Prophecy's Origin - The Wulf and the Red Ring
by LastoftheOldScrolls
Summary: Tamriel, 4E 171. The Thalmor have launched a massive unprovoked attack on Cyrodiil and Hammerfell, forcing Emperor Titus II to declare war on the Aldmeri Dominion. This is the story of the Great War and the hardships it created for all involved. It is told through various POV's from both sides. I use a similar writing style to the GOT and the Boys Do Like Girls–The Seasons Trilogy
1. The Edge of War and Peace

First things first, I do not own The Elder Scrolls, Bethesda Softworks and Zenimax own The Elder Scrolls. This is an original story that take place thirty years before the events of Skyrim. The first several chapters span the opening months of the Great War, told through various characters POVs, both original and from the cannon. The style of writing is very similar to GOT and very own Boys Do Like Girls – The Seasons Trilogy. Like the Seasons Trilogy Skyrim is much larger in scope to create more interesting scenarios. I hope you enjoy my portrayal of The Great War, and please leave a review. Good or bad I appreciate all the help I can get to improve as a writer.

I have decided to do a lot of editing to the first twenty chapters because of the new team of writers we managed to gather, also because of some tips I received in comments and messages. This is my first attempt at creative writing and I have very little experience reading besides the mandatory books I was assigned in school that were mind numbingly boring. I hope there is an improvement over the first iteration of the opening chapters and I thank all those who gave the advice, keep it coming and please review.

The Wulf and the Red Ring

Chapter 1

The Edge of War and Peace

The first POV is Roderic Burd

**A **calm breeze sweeps across the fields of western Cyrodiil as the sun peaks over distant mountains, the snow topped peaks laying far west of the Abecean sea. The tall golden grass is complemented by the daylight as the blades arches under gentle gusts. Roderic, a man of average height, stares off, his mind straying ever further from his purpose. He can't help but stroke his freshly shaven face, running his fingertips across several scars once covered by a hearty beard he had acquired over several year's. A truly uncomfortable feeling for a Nord such as himself. But the Imperials like to keep up appearances, they always have.

The crash of waves could be heard from the nearby ocean, as well as seagulls flying overhead, tenaciously searching for their next morning was barely through and already his apathy had boiled to the surface. To call this assignment monotonous would be an understatement at this point. He had spent most of his life in the heat of combat, whether it be in the sands of the arena during his younger years, or serving the empire in their never ending quest for political security, he had always felt most at home was in the mist of battle.

Needless to say the last two years had been mundane, as he had settled down in Helgath with his fiance Jolda. A few months back, he decided to honor a request made by his old friend Glador, thinking that travailing to Cyrodiil to aid in the training of imperial soldiers would give him that feeling he had been without for nearly two years. But as most events tend to play out in this world, things did not proceed quite as he had thought. At least the repetitive maneuvers, day in and out, have kept him in good shape during these mundane times. Jolda will be sure to show her appreciation upon his return home.

A tall Redguard adorned in a set of mismatched Imperial, and Alik'r leather armor, approached Roderic, repeatedly calling his name in attempt to gain his attention. But it is to no avail, as Roderics stands oblivious to the calls, staring out towards the vista. The Redguard places his hand on the pauldron of Roderics steel plated armor, breaking his mind free from distracting thoughts.

"Long morning?" Curtis says in an sarcastic tone, relived to of finally gained the Nords attention. He stands taller than Roderic, with lanky arms that extend well past his wait and a well trimmed goatee that complements his bald head. "Put troubling thoughts to the back of your mind and let our work distract you." Roderic responds with a nod and turns to the group of students.

"What is your take on this batch?" Curtis inquires, "They have nearly completed the first stage of training ."

Before Roderic gives his response, he pauses momentarily, to study the men in action, being sure to measure his words carefully.

Roderic stares down the varied group of imperial soldiers as they drill his own techniques, using weighted wooden swords and daggers in attempt to have them quickly acclimate to dual wielding. The men train in a large imperial camp that stands atop the tallest hill near the shore, its strong wooden frame contrasting the surrounding fields of grass. Housing the fourth and seventh legions, the camp was strategically placed north of Anvil, hugging the province of Hammerfell to assure the security for the region. The beautiful weather goes unnoticed by the fatigued soldiers, whose intense training has been on going well before sunrise.

Roderic's deep voice bellows powerfully when he finally breaks words. "The men have a good technique when they attack, and their form in solid when in defensive."

Curtis looks to the men proudly before Roderic cuts his gratification short, speaking directly to him in a lowered voice. "But their transitions need work, they leave to big an opening while switching stance." Curtis looks back to the group, the grin quickly fading from his face.

"Good is not always enough to stay alive, many a capable soldier lay dead in testament to the fact."

Curtis is a motivated young man from Gilane, who has quickly risen to the rank of Captain in the seventh legion. Despite having no experience teaching, he was placed alongside Roderic for his proficiency at dual wielding scimitars. Roderic on the other hand is here by request, and tasked with training the new soldiers in exchange for leveling a debt with the General. His apathy was easy to spot throughout the day, but he decided to make the best of the situation and aid those that need it most.

Roderic steps forward and yells out to the men, "In order to master the use of two weapons, one must have balance. Despite the light nature of your weapons, you must not rush to attack, but rather use your opponents haste against them."

Roderic walks down the line of soldiers, his signature Newtscale Cuirass clanking against his ebony war ax underneath the red Imperial cloak, covering one shoulder. He attempts to give more personal instructions to those that need it most.

"Gunder, you lower your guard after a strong blow, keep your damn guard up!"

"Yes sir." The burly Nord replies with vigor in his voice, he then raises his weighted practice shield in preparation for the next drill.

"Watch your brother Holger closely, and see proper technique form quickly." It was refreshing to see a man so endeavored in his training.

Roderic began pacing up and down the line of men, inspecting their skills as Curtis yells out various commands. "Good form Servo, but you need to control the ferocity in your attack, or risk losing your vitality prematurely."

Despite his indifference, Roderic was a skilled and respected trainer, even going as far as learning each mans individual name. Upon completion of his review, he turns to Curtis. "This group needs a bit more work on technique, but it will come in due time."

Curtis, clearly disappointed, decides to take out his frustrations on then men, ordering another round of drills before morning rations.

Placing his hands to his knees in exhaustion, the Imperial Varus attempts to protest. "But Captain Shamar, we have been training all morning, we are tired and hungry."

Curtis turns to the Imperial, his eyes filled with a dim fury being held back. "The more you beat yourself in training, the less you will bleed in battle." he yells, snapping back at the soldier.

"But we have been without food or drink since we woke. Our belly's would be full if this were a true battle."

Surprised by the ignorant outburst, Roderic yells out to the Imperial before Curtis has a chance to speak. "What do you know about true battle Varus? What do any of you know about a true fight." He yells out now referring to the entire group.

"A true fight, one that truly tests your heart, is not a one sided annihilation of your enemy, or a cleverly planned tactic. You are truly tested as a warrior only when the fight is not where you want. While you are not at your best. When you are beaten and battered, weak and discouraged. For when a man can overcome that adversity, that is the moment. The singular instance when a mere mortal is blessed with the chance to become legend.

Varus turns to Roderic giving a nod of acknowledgment, enlightened by his words. In acceptance of the captains task, he furiously attacks his partner in attempt to impress the renowned warrior.

"Well that lit a fire under their ass," he thinks to himself before succumbing to the monotony. Despite being fairly skilled at using words to motivate men before battle, Roderic was not fond of speeches, or the rituals that most would preform before battle. Normally he would only use the skill in dire situations, but he finds it to be just as useful in taking the attention off him and dispersing it among the men.

Roderic slips back in to a stoic state, staring off in an attempt to lighten his dreary mood just as Clavus, the highest ranking soldier in the Seventh Legion besides General Galdor, entered the training grounds.

"Roderic, Curtis, you have been summoned." Clavis says with urgency, unable to hide the change in his usual stoic domineer. "Report to the generals quarters immediately."

"What does this regard Clavus, I spoke to General Wulf no more than an hour ago." Curtis says, curious as to what shook the usually intrepid warrior.

"Urgent news has just arrived from the capitol, apparently from the Emperor himself. The General has ordered all active captains to his hut, you as well Roderic. The parchment holds grim news by the looks of it."

They head off to the Generals tent, the two men spurting ideas back and forth in attempt to determine the reason behind the odd domineer of Clavus. The ideas range from another possible uprisings in Black March, to a full scale battle with rebel forces in Cyrodil, who have been raiding supply carts for months now.

**The two enter in to General Galdor Wulf's quarters** to find the various captains gathered at the end of his table, their eyes glued on the young General as he looks over the various maps and parchments littered on top. They appear to be as clueless as Roderic, standing in silence awaiting General Wulf's orders. Galdor sits in his heavy Imperial armor, looking over the parchment for what seemed like the seventh time. As all the captains fill the room, he appears to struggle with what his eyes behold.

Roderic can see the shock upon Galdors face clear as day, "This can't be good." He mutters under his breath. He is fairly clean cut for a Nord, "Imperialized", is the term most Nords would use, but Roderic new the valor that resides inside the General, and knows how bad the news must be for Galdor to start second guessing himself . Galdor overhears Roderic and looks up, disappointed he could not hide his dismay.

"As you all may know, i have received word from my father in the Imperial City. He has informed me that Emperor Titus II has declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion."

"The entire Dominion?" One of the captains yells out, shocked by the revelation.

Galdor looks deep in to the man's eyes. "It seems so."

The man, unfamiliar to Roderic, continues. "So not only must we deal with those audacious High elves, but the Khajiit's and Bosmer simultaneously?"

Galdor loudly replied."Who we fight matters not if we use our training, and fight with the spirit of Talose in our heart. We will meet any Man, Mer, or Beast in the field of battle, and only after they suffer bitter loss, shall they be educated. It is then they will see why this bold transgression shall bear solemn meaning for the rest of their days."

The men stand in a suspenseful silence, hanging off of each of Galdor's bold words. His way with words, while being slightly absurd for most Nord's, motivated the men. This skill made him a very good General in Roderic's eyes.

"Let us set out to the imperial city immediately, and we shall find out why the Thalmor has suddenly lost mind."

A unanimous sense of shock filled the room, with every man worthy of his position mindful of the great threat the Thalmor pose. Galdor hands out various orders, and tasks, starting the process of moving the legions west. He orders Clavus to take control of the fourth Legion and head out immediately, while Galdor handles the organization of the seventh.

Roderic is concerned as he his overlooked for various tasks in which he would excel, but the reason is exposed after the room empties and Galdor calls him over as the final man takes his leave. His tone changes from bold words to a softer tone, one shared solely by long time comrades.

"You have always been a valued friend to me." Galdor says in a serious manor. Roderic looks back with his dark blue Nordic eyes , searching for meaning the behind the Generals words. "I have asked much of you over the many years we have served together. I won't hand you any orders, you have earned that much. You're a skilled warrior and your presence on the battlefield would no doubt give the men an unparalleled moral boost. Yet with that said, I must say that you owe the Imperials nothing. Your life is your own now, and if you wish to head to Helgathe for Jolda's sake, no officer will attempt to stop you."

Without pause, Roderic gives response, "And let you have all the fun." Galdor lets out a laugh. "Don't forget who stands before you General," a smile materialized on Roderic's face, "I had begun to grow weary of this routine anyhow."

Galdor lets out a laugh, "I''m glad to see the simple life has not softened you, let us not waste any time, and teach these elves the true meaning of honor."


	2. Surviving Honor

Chapter 2

Surviving Honor

Second POV is Galdor Wulf

Galdor starts to pack his valued belongings as Roderic takes his leave, pausing for a moment to take in his surroundings. He is relieved to have a warrior the likes of Roderic at his side, yet it's apparent that he can't seem to match his old friends optimism. A man of tall stature, Galdor towers over most of his imperial comrades. His hair is short and dark, naturally slicked back by the Imperial silver helm he constantly wears. He is a warrior who relies mostly on strength, as opposed to Roderic who relies more on his speed and technique.

After packing a good amount of his gear he pulls out a favored piece of armor and places it on the table, staring at the cuirass, his nostalgia starts to get the better of him. The ornate chest plate was an Imperial Temple Knight Cuirass, one awarded to him by his father upon his promotion to general.

"Months of building, years of planning, only to uprooted by the Thalmor." He says under his breath in a bitter tone.

Despite being a proud Nord, he has dedicated his entire life to restoring the honor once held by the Imperial Legion. A dream instilled in to him by his father Alix, who was recently awarded with a promotion to captain of the guard in the Imperial city. The position Galdor now held, was the very one his father held for thirty seven years, his lead of the seventh renowned among the Imperial high command.

Seven months ago he made the decided to personally take over this camp in attempt to take the fresh recruits and turn them in to hardened soldiers that would hold up to the Imperial standards of old. Needless to say Galdor held no content for the order to leave his position, but being no slouch at military tactics, he is fully aware of the threat the Thalmor pose to the Empire, and the necessity for the Fourth and Seventh Legion to report to the Imperial City.

The men move with haste, packing up most of the supplies in the camp as Galdor over looks their progress, giving aid in any way. They are to bring the stock pile of weapons kept in the fort to the Imperial City, as well as medical supplies and of course, soldiers. With Galdors leadership, they manage to organize the troops and set out only four hours after the Fourth Legion. Looking back on the camp as they take their leave, he can't shake the feeling that it will be the last time his eyes ever behold what he considers to be his greatest achievement.

**The seventh has been marching for six hours now**, notably making it half way to Kvatch when a group of soldiers spot something sinister in the valleys east of their position. A scout runs full pace from the front to Galdor's position. "General Wulf, scouts have spotted an estimated three separate Thalmor Legions east of our position."

"Three Legions!" Galdor yells out. "By Talos, they managed to get that many soldiers in to Cyrodiil that without notice, they must of made their way north from Valenwood."

"Do they have cavalry?" Roderic says from behind.

"Luckily not, but two have already engaged the Fourth legion six miles outside of Kvatch, the other is headed right in our direction."

Without hesitation Galdor yells out. "Thalmor are headed our way! Form the line towards the east and prepare to push to Kvatch."

The men establish the front line quickly, just as Galdor drilled, and they begin to march towards the position of the Thalmor force.

"This day certainly took a turn for the eventful," Galdor says to Roderic, hoping to easy the soldiers nerves, but it was more so to mask his doubt. By the sound of things, the Thalmor force outnumbered the Imperials drastically.

When the Seventh Legion makes their way over the hill blocking the view of the valleys surrounding Kvatch, the full extent of the Thalmor army is revealed to them. In the distance Galdor can see the vast force, easily over twenty thousand strong. The Fourth Legion had already been engaged by a portion of the opposing forces, and appeared to be badly outnumbered. Another Thalmor Legion marches west as reported, heading right for the Seventh.

"That's a lot of damn elves." Curtis says to Galdor in a perturbed tone, his hand already on the hilt of his scimitar.

Galdor speaks with a more reserved tone as he turns to his captains, with Roderic standing among them. "Kvatch is our final goal, but our biggest priority is fighting through the elves to join the Fourth, then we pool our resources and push for Kvatch." Galdor scans the landscape and spots Kvatch in the far distance, seemingly untouched by Thalmor hands for the time being. "Thank the nine," he thinks to himself. He looks off towards the city, calculating in his mind the distance from their position to Kvatch, the chances were not in their favor.

Thinking quickly Galdor dose the best he can to find the necessary words. "Calm yourselves, remember your training and put blade to purpose." He says loudly so the men can hear. "You have all trained hard and earned those colors, now it is time you put them to use."

"Go now," He says returning his gaze to the captains, "prepare your men for a hard fight."

Curtis approaches as the captains disperse. "General Wulf, I have sent scouts towards Anvil to keep our escape route open."

"One need not look far to discern the advanced planning of this attack," Galdor says while staring down the hill, "I fear the Thalmor have already anticipated that move."

"What are we to do in such a dire circumstance?" Curtis says worried about Galdor's demeanor.

"Send several of your best Alik`r veterans North, one to Sentinal, one to Dragonstar, the last to Wayrest. Tell them to spread the word to every village and city on their path."

"You would have them brave the sands of Alik'r? General their chances of their survival are,"

"I know the chances Curtis." He says cutting off the Redguard. "Have them look for my Brother Darious in Wayrest. If we must retreat, many will fall in the desert. He will be able to send word to the Imperial city if the Thalmor movements elude them."

The Redguard pulls his hood off, exposing his bald head, and turns to Roderic for a moment, "Is the chance of such an outcome that great?"

"I Fear it to be so Curtis, the General is right we need to send those scouts, Send Kavar, Jelin, and Gogen, they are the most seasoned and have the best chances of survival."

Curtis turns back. "I will send the scouts right away General."

The captains have dispersed to their respective units and the men have ready their weapons, waiting patiently for Galdors orders. By this time, the Thalmor know they are as the front of the Seventh Legion lay clear as day atop one of the vast hills that surround Kvatch. But Galdor wanted them to see, and waits to reveal the true size of his force that is partially hidden behind the hill. If the elves remain deceived and are bold in their attack, a full scale charge would hold the best chance for victory.

"Wait for it," He yells out to reassure the men, who grow more nervous by the passing second. The Thalmor grow ever closer to the foot of the hill, and have swung their entire force around despite knowing the disadvantage that lay in a attacking higher ground. Galdor's ploy seemed to be successful as the Mer quickly reach the bottom of the hill and begin their climb towards the Sevenths position. Galdor lets out one simple command, but his voice held a powerful tone and carried across the entirety of the front line. "Attack!"

The men charge over the hill towards the Thalmor, their pace ever increasing because of the slope. The Mer who have now made it half way up the hill charge back at them, undaunted by the reveal of their true numbers. Galdor is dumbfounded by the Elvin tactics, they must know the best way to defend such a charge is to bunker down or run, and even then they would take heavy losses, yet they still advance.

"By the nine, Leave it to the damn elves to find a way neutralize the advantage of higher ground." He thinks to himself, starting to slow his pace.

The Thalmor cunningly wait till the very last second to prove Galdors suspicions true, casting dozens of various runes up the hill, littering the path of Galdor's forces with deadly magical traps. He manages to slow his advance despite the quick pace, extending his arms outward to stop the men beside him from falling in to the trap. He lets out a frantic yell in an attempt to halt their advance, but the order comes to late as dozens of the men are deafened by the screams and excitement of the charge. Galdor looks in horror as the entire front line unanimously erupts in to a wall of flame, with dozens of men instantly losing their lives in the magical fire. Galdor and the soldiers that followed close behind the doomed men manage to stop their advancement in time to avoid death, but not injury, as the blast sends those closest crashing to the ground.

"How in oblivion did i end up on my back." Galdor says to himself, momentarily disoriented by the force of the blast. He stares up at the sky for a few seconds before memory of where he is creeps back in to his mind. But as his senses return to him, the searing pain of burns he sustained in the blast shot through his body.

It seemed to take an eternity for Galdor to get back to his feet, his ears rang and time had slowed as he coped with the pain that shot through his left side. Mere moments after the runes exploded, the Thalmor force jumped through the flames to attack the stunned men that had managed to survive. The Imperials quickly move in to engage the Thalmor, and chaos ensues around Galdor as he attempts to push through the pain.

Two men stand between Galdor and the approaching Mer, but they are quickly cut down as he attempts to regain his surroundings. He moves for his sheath, but quickly remembers that the blast knocked the sword out of his hand.

Galdor looks towards the approaching Mer expecting the worst, but just then Roderic intercepted two Thalmor before they could make their attack. Slamming his shoulder in to the lead attacker's, Roderic manages to knock him off balance and sends the Mer tumbling down the hill. He ducks underneath the second Thalmor's swings, attacking with an elvin sword from Roderic's right flank. Spinning to his left while ducking underneath the swing, Roderic was able to catch the Mer in the chest with his dagger, slamming the ebony dagger down with enough deadly force to break through the Elvin armor. Roderic dramatically lands the blow while his back was turned to the Mer, and Galdor can see the sword fall from the elves hand as his elven helm falls limp on to Roderic's shoulder.

Galdor scans the battlefield, taking note of elves pouring through the line at various points. "Form the line, the elves are breaking our ranks," But the order fell on deaf ears as the men rage in unorganized battle. Galdor tries again as he picks his sword up from the ground.

By this time, Glador had panned back to see that the another Mer approaching Roderic with malice. Galdor yells out in attempt to warn Roderic, but despite the calls he stands still, waiting for the Thalmor to attack. As the Mer makes his move, Roderic throws his dying comrade in the path of the blow, using the embedded dagger to force the Mers movement. "A clever move," What Galdor didn't expected was how carelessly the Mer would cut down his own comrade to get to his target, lopping his elven brother in two with so much force the claymore strikes the dirt below.

Despite the unexpected nature of the move, Roderic acts instantly and with lethal precision. As soon as the Mers claymore fell, Roderic move in and calmly placed the tip of his ax on the heavy sword before the Mer had the chance to raise it. Closing the gap quickly, he stabs the defenseless Mer underneath his elven helm several times.

Roderic turns to Galdor as the Mer falls to his knees, blood spurting from his neck. "Look out he yells pointing in Galdors direction."

Barely managing to duck down in time, Galdor avoids an attack from behind. The Mer recovers quickly and swings upward at Galdor once more, causing a small gash to his face. He attackes once again, but Galdor manages to doge the attack, killing him in recompense as his swipes at the Mers neck and slices a main artery. Galdor fought off two more elves, parring their attacks and kicking them to the ground before the bleak realization hits him, the ranks are broken. The Thalmor had managed to send the entire front line to do disarray with a single attack, making their tactical advantage void. The battle of Mer and man now surrounds the General, as enemy soldiers attack from every angle.

He briefly yells out orders to form the line at the top of the hill, but he noticed a dim flash out of his peripheral vision. He instinctively lifts a shield from a fallen Mer and hold it up as the ball of fire ignites on the other side, further scorching the exposed parts of his legs. He lowers the steaming shield to see the mage leaping in to the air with a conjured sword, bringing the smoky blade down on Galdors steel sword. He kicks the elf in the chest with all his strength, knocking him off his feet and on to his back. Galdor approaches while spinning his sword downward, delivering the killing blow by plunging it in to the Mers chest.

But suddenly a sharp pain shoot throughout his leg, stopping him in his tracks. It was not the burns he sustained from the flames, or an Elvin blade as he expected, it was a elven arrow that had pierced his right calf. Falling to one knee he defends against another attack as he frantically searches for Roderic, but he could not be found as the battlefield was plunged in chaos, his men falling all around him. His counters becomes staggered as blood pours from his leg, every move requiring more energy than the last. Despite being on one knee Galdor managed to hold his arm out, blocking an elven ax before it could fall upon him. But while his arm was extended to keep the ax from impacting his head, his hand is kicked by another Mer and his sword is sent flying from grasp.

He yells out attempting to gain order in the mist of battle, but just as the words leave his bloodied mouth, everything goes white as he is struck in the back of the head with a Glass mace, his silver Imperial helm flying off in to the distance. He falls face first to the ground, the taste of dirt and blood upon his lips as he fades from conciseness.


	3. A Deceptive Serenity

Chapter 3

A Deceptive Serenity

Third POV is the first main protagonist Darious Wulf

**Darious awoke, his dark beard drenched in a cold sweat** from a terrible dream. Instinctively he reaches underneath his bed and grabs the hilt of his Nordic sword, the dull blue glow of its enchantment bouncing off the stone walls giving a dim blue light to the room that aided in his sight. He is calmed by the sight of Arielle, his beautiful wife who is sleeping soundly. He strokes her blond hair and gently kisses her on the forehead before a chill ran down his back. The window was open and a cool breeze has crept in the dark room. He can't seem to remember what the dream was about but he knew getting back to sleep was not a option. He sits up and running his hands through his short hair to wipe away the irritating sweat, lighting a small lantern that lay next to the large bed, the flame reflecting more prominently than the enchanted steel. He sheaths his blade, placing it around his waist as he stood up. Walking over to the window he peers out, looking out at the nearby mountain with only its peak being illuminated by the morning sun. Icicles hang from the roof, dripping due to an unusually warm morning for the month. With dawn rapidly approaching, he decided to get dressed and head down stairs to start breakfast. Gathering wood for a fire and putting on a pot of water, he prepares his beef stew, which was about the extent of his culinary knowledge. When he was finished he decides to step out to the deck to smoke his pipe, while the meal simmers.

Stepping out to his deck, he leans up against the fence as smoke from the nearby smith drifts up in to the crisp winter air. His house is located on the southern end of the Great Boulevard near Cumberland Square, one of the most reputable markets in High Rock. The Boulevard was a white cobble stone road that extends the entirety of Wayrest, lined with various unique buildings that inspire a sense of aw. The road was empty besides a few vendors starting to set up their stands for the day, and a few guards finishing their patrol. A rare sight for most as it is usually bustling with people trading with the various merchants and vendors that also line the road. After lighting his pipe, he shares a friendly wave with a local guard starting his patrol.

"Don't suppose I could have a taste of those herbs" the guard said in a joking manner.

Darious laughs. "Maybe after you are done keeping us safe from all those bandits and trolls."

The guard chuckles and walks off as Darious finishes his pipe. He had always liked Wayrest, Its architecture being similar to Anvil, witch was he and his brothers favorite city in Cyrodiil. Two distant mountains lay to the north, clearly visible from his deck. The clear blue sky and misty mountains creating a truly beautiful view. He lets out a big yawn and prepares to go back inside but spots a familiar figure down the road. As he takes a closer look he can see this man is dawned in full Dwemer armor. A full set of this particular armor is a rarity in Tamriel, so not many people can afford it, let alone brave the depths of a Dwemer ruin. So this leads Darious to believe that this man is his brother Cyrus who lives in Markarth, a city built in to the surface of an ancient Dwemer ruin. Knowing his brother owned a full set of this unique armor, he picks a stone up off the ground and tosses it at the man's helmet. The rock sails through the air before hitting him dead on, letting out a loud clang.

"Brother!" Darious says loudly extending his arm.

But the man says nothing, and just slowly turns his head to stare at Darious. Fearing he might of jumped to the wrong conclusion and had picked a fight with a vicious warrior, he prepares to apologize for the mistake. But his paranoia is put to rest when the man speaks up.

"Ha! Nice throw brother, but let us skip the pleasantries" Cyrus says, grabbing his arm in response. "And let's just get to the mead, meat, and some of that pipe while you're at it, the road leaves me weary and thirsty"

Darious let out a hearty laugh and replied" What was I thinking, I should of have a plate prepared at all times just for when you decide to show up, hours before most would rise, and without even sending word your coming".

They go inside and sit by the growing fire to enjoy mead and stories.

"Still carrying around that ancient nord blade I see." Cyrus inquired as he relives himself of the cumbersome armor. "what was the story behind that old thing again?"

"Roderic used this blade when he became the Champion of the Arena. It used to be a claymore, forged for a captain in Bruma who fought in the oblivion crises."

"He is a damn war horse." Cyrus mumbles with a mouthful of bread.

Darious strokes his short dark beard as he took a moment to think. "The full story is lost to me, Roderic knows more than I but at some point he re-forged it to be a one handed blade, which suited better for his dual wielding style."

As his story went on his family began to rises with the sun. The first to come down is his youngest son Danous, a cheerful dark haired boy who was only seven years old. His wife Arielle was the next to down the stairs, causing Darious to pause mid sentence, beholding the beautiful blond Breton woman he was lucky enough to marry come down the stairs. Her bright green eyes locked on her husbands as she come down, a thing of beauty despite being disheveled by a long nights sleep. His attention is drawn away from Cyrus momentarily, but the same would happen to Cyrus as Danous runs to his uncles side with and endless pool of curiosity.

"Are you telling the story of Roderic, the champion of the arena again?" Danous said with eagerness in his voice. " Could you tell me the story again?" He had always been enthralled by tales of battle and victory in adversity, but Cyrus is not exactly the kids type.

"Haha I am sorry Danous, but your uncle Cyrus is here visiting from Skyrim, and I'm sure he has pressing matters that need addressing." He pats Danous on the head. "Go help your mother with the stew and I'll tell you the story later."

They began to eat the stew Darious prepared as Arielle kisses him on the forehead.

"Thanks for making the stew, trying to impress our company I see." Darious smiles at her. "So Cyrus what brings you all the way to Wayrest?"

After a moment of silence he blurted out "It's our family home."

"The manor in Markarth, what about it?" Arielle replied.

Darious knew his brother had come to Wayrest for a reason and understood he is an honorable man and has difficulties admitting faults.

Turning to Arielle. Darious calmly says. "Let us finish this meal before we begins talks of unfavorable topic."

"No!" Cyrus blurted out loudly "Those milk drinkers from the hills claim Markarth as their birthright! And that coward of a Jarl is actually considering conceding some properties to avoid conflict!"

"What? Darious said, surprised by the news. "But our family has been living in that estate for generations. Our fathers, father lived in that home how could the Jarl even be considering our home for that?" Darious said with a confused tone.

"Its those damn reachmen again, making up fictitious claims of ownership." Cyrus replies in a hateful tone.

Danous chimed in "Why would they think Markarth is theirs? Did they build it?"

Darious looked to his son. "No they did not build Markarth, but the Nords did not build it either."

Cyrus turns to Darious "That was the case I made, He seemed to hold firm at first, but when the announcement was made that he's considering their offer I called him a coward for even thinking about bending over for those fools."

"You called Jarl Hrolfdir a coward?!" Darious said sternly.

"I only tell it to those who deserve the title." He said looking away.

Darious chuckled to himself. "You call everyone a coward. You've even called me a coward on several occasions."

His eye brows tensed as he responds in a defensive tone. "Who is afraid of a little beehive?!"

Darious lets out a hearty laugh. "I was only eight! Eight year old's tend to be afraid of a beehives! But don't worry my brother, im sure there are ways to aid the Jarl in forget your lapse in judgment "

"There was no laps, only a justified accusation. Father would of done the same."

"Well then explain why did not."

Cyrus pauses for a moment, then begrudgingly admits. "Because he is not aware of the situation."

Darious snaps his attention away from his food, towards Cyrus. "You have not told father?"

"No I have not sent word, and neither shall you. His concerns lay in the Imperial City." Cyrus sighs before adding. "He placed the responsibility on me, and I will not fail."

Finally his eldest son Alix, who is eleven came down the stairs. Greeted his uncle and sat down to the table. He asked about what were discussing.

Darious turns to him and says "Apparently the Reachmen in the hills by Markarth are arguing with Yarl Hrolfdir about the rightful owners of the land."

"Truly captivating" Alix said, a hint of sarcasm on his lips.

Darious instructs Alix to eat his food as he continues. "If do not wish to tell father, I will support your decision. Even if I find it to be unwise."

"Thank you my brother." He says in a relived tone.

The discussion continues for a moment before they agree the best way to secure the home that they grew up in, is to acquire enough funds to outbid the Reachmen if it comes to that. We start to discuss possible options when Alix chimes in.

"Why don't you go kill the trolls? Isn't there a bounty for each troll in the eastern mountains?"

"Yes I've overheard rumblings in the tavern of the recent troll attacks plaguing travelers and merchants." Darious said, embarrassed he did not think of it himself. "It would be a few days travel but maybe we should go and see how much each one is worth. "

Cyrus smiled and said "Hunting and coin? how could I possibly say no to that."

"We haven't been hunting in many years, remember? If my memory serves me well I think that was the last time we all went hunting together was when father took us hunting in the Jerall Mountains."

"Yes, that was when I caught Hell Joint from that damn wolf, bastard wasn't even worth the kill."

"Those were good time." Darious says, taking a mouth full of stew before adding. "That was so long ago you actually still had hair then."

"Not everyone can have long dark hair brother, besides it gets in the way when you fight." Cyrus says in a defensive tone.

Darious laughs. "But back to the point. Provided the bounties are substantial, we shall head out tomorrow morning. I would see a swift end to this adverse situation."

They finished their meal and set off to spend the day in town, catching up and seeking information about the troll bounty. They are distracted by the sights and sounds of the Wayrest markets and in turn, the day goes by rather quickly. Arielle had offered to take Alix and Danous with her as she went to gossip with the other women in town, something she did quite frequently. This gave the brothers time to grab some mead at the local tavern and catch up. They spend the rest of the night drinking and reminiscing on times past., both of them passing out around midnight after a long stumble home.

**Despite the long night of drinking, Darious bursts in to the room** where Cyrus sleeps at an ungodly hour.

"Gather your hunting gear, we leave before the sun can rise."

"For the love of Talos, your telling me the sun isn't even up yet?" Cyrus groans in to his pillow. "What is the point of the early hour if it will take several days to even reach the area?"

"Because I'm up, now I'm sure you wouldn't want me to grab a bucket of cold water."

"Fine, fine, fine. One thing though, my armor, it is not quite suited for hunting" Cyrus replies. His scavenged Dwemer armor weighing more than a large elk by itself.

"Here wear this" Darious said as he throws him a spare set of Iron armor he used when he first started adventuring, many years ago.

"This old thing, really? It can barley fit me."

"You could do it naked for all I care, as long as you keep up."

Cyrus begrudgingly agrees and meets Darious outside. The sun will not rise for a while so they light their torches and set off down the dark road, headed for the nearby city gate.


	4. The Storm of War

Chapter 4

The Storm of War

Fourth POV is the second main protagonist Undil Rumier

**After the Oblivion Crises, which the Altmer dubbed The Great Anguish**, a ancient organization called Thalmor used the chaos that ensued to rise to power. One of the first acts of the new Thalmor order was to rebuild the Crystal Tower, a magical structure that was destroyed in one of the many battles. It took over a hundred and fifty years of searching to gather the needed materials, but they manged to match the magnificence of the original structure. Lord Voltheer, the lord of the Thalmor, had decided long before its completion that it would be the hub of all Thalmor planning in sheer defiance of its previous destruction.

High in the skies of Alinor, deep In the Crystal Tower, a room begins to fill as Thalmor agents from all across Tamriel have come to discuss the success of the Thalmor forces, which have invaded the provinces of Cyrodiil and Hammerfell six days prior. In the center of the room, a solid gold rectangular table rests, laden with the finest craftsmanship in all the realm of Mer. Not only was the room adorned with the trappings and decadence of the Aldmeri, but a compendium of strategic essays, battle formations, and historical documents chronicling the legacy of Thalmor military effort in Tamriel.

The gathering of the Mer broke out in to simple conversations among brothers, sharing tales of war, conquest and antics abroad. But the most popular of topic, was the grand lord himself. The elves of Alinor have always thought high of themselves, a trait shared and surpassed by their Thalmor representation. But none could match Grand Lord Voltheer Arantis, whose arrogance had been increasingly bloated over a hundred years of triumph. His pride could only be matched by his paranoia, having only seven Mer In the entire land for whom he would place trust. Three of the Mer in this auspicious position were his eldest children, Adiveer, Casaveer, and Odiveer. One of the only Mer outside of his family in which he placed his trusted was Marious Ovear, who rose the ranks with the Grand Lord long before the reformation of the Thalmor. When Voltheer took control of the Thalmor, Marious was granted the position of Vice Admiral of the Aldmari navy due to him being the oldest, and most trusted comrade to Lord Voltheer.

Marious, the right hand of Lord Voltheer passes a up and coming young Mer named Undil Rumeir. The Mer was not physically intimidating, standing at well below the average height of most Thalmor, but he had a presence about him that Marious liked.

"It's high time these Imperial dogs learn to bow to their masters." Undil says in hopes to catch the attention of Marious.

Marious stops, turning to the young elf, absent any facial hair. "Lord Voltheer knew the proper time to attack. His patience is that of a spider, laying in wait for his pray to become careless. And at the right moment striking, unhindered by any resistance."

"I understand the necessity of patience, but do not confuse patience with inaction. I served Lord Voltheer under Sontra Kelria for seven decades, and my loyalty is unwavering. But the time has come to seek imperial blood, for our fallen brethren deserve nothing less."

Marious grins in admiration of the young comrades ferocity. "I did not expect such an passionate answer from such a young Mer, I must say I am impressed."

"Hopefully my tirade reaches the ears of the grand lord."

Marious nods before heading to the other end of the room to introduce the lord.

"All Stand for the Grand Lord Voltheer Arantis, the head of the Aldermeri Dominion, and leader of all Mer. For on this day we convene the first war council of the new Crystal Tower. All hail the Thalmor, all hail the Grand Lord"

His presence is immediately detected with silence gracing his stride, and a large bundle of scrolls clutched under his right arm. He had facial hair trimmed in the fashion of the ancient Thalmer warlord Ala`rentose, complimenting his strong brow. One could almost mistake him for a Nord if not for is high cheekbones and developed brow, but no one would dare attempt such a transgression. His hair is long, and like his children, had a dark silver glow that matched his eyes. He is adorned in an extravagant black robe with silver trim, similar in desire to the Justicars robes, but far superior. Placing the bundle on the table, he opens two of them, his weathered silver eyes gazing upon the scrolls.

"This reincarnation of the Crystal Tower as a testament to the glory of the Aldmari Dominion my Lord."

"It surpasses the magnificent of its predecessor my lord."

"I know." Lord Voltheer says, not taking his eyes off the unraveled scroll.

Marious cuts off the hollow complements of the lackeys and gets straight to business. "I am elated to inform you the Imperial forces in western Cyrodiil are on the run, and the cities have been cut off. Lady Arannelya has decisively defeated the Fourth Legion in battle, and has the Seventh on the run, having chased them in to the Alik'r Desert.

"Good, I want the seventh Legion wiped out. At any cost." He adds with a menacing tone.

"Yes my Lord, she currently has Mer in pursuit I will tell her to spare no expense in their demise."

"Kelria, what of the southern theater?"

"General Naarifin has successfully taken Leyawiin, having defeated the eleventh Legion as they made foolish attempt to retake the city. They have since moved North and currently have the city of Bravil totally surrounded. The city is sure to fall in mere days." She says with a smirk, glad to be giving good news.

"Don't bother, burn it." He calmly says, unraveling another scroll on the table.

She responds, visibly bewildered by the order. "Burn the whole city my lord?"

"That is what I said, is it not? We have no need for a retched blemish of a city."

"Yes my lord." Kelria says, unquestioning of his orders.

"What news of the northern provinces?" Lord Voltheer says, still focused on the maps strewn across the table.

Kataran, a well known Thalmor captain speaks up. "We have thirty Thalmor agents lining every road, stream, and mountain path leading out of Cyrodil and Hammerfell. From the information I managed to gather, the Dunmer want no part in the war. They can't agree whether to fight for one side or the other. The Imperials have sent several messengers to Mournhold since the attack to try and sway their decision, but our infiltrators have managed to kill them before they can reach the city."

"Good, we will need slaves when we wrap up this war." Voltheer says finally looking up at the group of men that surrounded the table. "I won't have the stink of man taint our new empire."

"Hundreds of years living as a slaving culture, they should acclimate easily enough." Undil boldly blurts out in a desperate attempt to be noticed."

"That is the idea." Voltheer said, looking directly at Undil. "What of Daggerfall, you are in charge of the contact there are you not?"

Undil is shocked that the grand lord is talking directly to him and not his superior Kelria, this being the first time he has even seen the Thalmor leader in person. Doing his best to keep his Elvin composure he speaks. "Yes my lord, my brother is the contact on the council. He has informed me that the city states of High Rock are unaware of the conflict, our agents lining the northern routs were no doubt successful in hindering the information. While there are cities that support the empire, he informs me that they do not poses the necessary number of men to present a threat."

"Good work, perhaps your skills should be put to more fruitful endeavor." Voltheer says as he turns to Forthel, a Mer only three years the elder to Undil. "And what of Skyrim?"

The Mer responds, visibly tentative. "No word my lord, our contacts have been silent since the start of the war."

"Five days, and not a single word?"

"Yes my lord, deepest apologies my lord."

"Five days of no contact and you bring this to my attention now?"

"I am terribly sorry my lord. I don't know what to make of."

"Have you at least sent messengers? Scouts?" Voltheer says angrily, cutting of Forthel mid explanation.

"No my lord." He says, his eyes glued to the ground in fear of what the outcome would hold.

"You do know what this war means to the Thalmor, do you not?" Voltheer starts to slowly walk around the table. "This is the final chapter of our long deserved revenge. For the last hundred and fifty years we have waited in silent preparation. Once again, the Aldmeri shall rise to its former glory and our rule shall spread across the land like the blinding light of dawn. I alone have the right to do what is necessary, to rid the world of the weak, and unworthy." He reaches Forthel, and from behind places his hand on his shoulders.

"No more shall inferior races rule over Tamriel. No longer will scores of heathens worship a false human idol. This is the utopia I have seen and this is what shall be."

"I would be honored to serve under you my lord." Forthel says nervously, turning around and bending to one knee.

"Did you not hear me Forthel?"

"Hear what my lord?"

"If I recall my words correctly, It is my right to rid the world of the weak and unworthy." He turns to the guards and nods.

"Kelria, how is your Nordic accent?"

"Superior to Forthel's." She said in an arrogant tone.

"Excellent, you shall take Forthels place watching the movements of the Nords." He says walking back to the head of the table. "I'm sure your star apprentice can handle your command in Cyrodiil."

She kneels and bows her head. "Of course, Thank you my lord."

The guards approached Forthel as his panic commenced. "No my lord please, I will make contact, I swear I won't fail you again!"

Voltheer turns and in an eerie, almost cheerful tone says. "I believe you."

One guard instantly silences Forthel, stripping him of his magical powers. The other guard slammed his glass hammer in to Forthels ornate Elvin helm, knocking him unconscious.

"I will not allow a imbecile to jeopardize the outcome of my war."

Undil stares as they drag him off, the group moving on to the next order of business. More containment operations as far as Undil could tell, but the discussion became nothing more than background noise as the trail of blood extended to the door. He had never seen a fellow Elf dispatched in such a manner, the unknown fate of the Mer filling his mind. The daze is finally broken as the doors slam shut, snapping Undils attention back to the discussion.

The meeting nears its conclusion as lord Vortheer takes his leave, passing off any orders to Marious who ends the preceding. As the generals begin to shuffle out, Undil approaches Kelria.

"You are certainly stepping up in terms of responsibility aren't you." She says patting him on the shoulder. "I hope my teaching did not fall upon deaf ears."

Undil answers quickly. "Of course my Sontra, I graduated the highest level of infiltration, and siege tactics mere days before my seventeenth birthday. But do you believe I am ready to lead men in battle?"

"You had better be, no student of mine would dare fail and soil my name." She says playfully, sarcastically acknowledging his aversion to this moments undertaking. "We already have Bravil surrounded, all you need do is give the order to finish it."

"Yes my Sontra." He says halfheartedly.

**Undil stands there for a moment shocked, as Kelria leaves the room.** He does his best to shake off the previous events, but such a fate can never truly be forgotten. He is the last to take his leave, heading down the hall with haste, focusing only on the task at hand. There were no doors in the Crystal tower, it was navigated through a magical transportation system. Just as it was constructed with magic, it shall be traversed by magic. He enters the room, several platforms with glowing markings lay to the side, pulsing in the centers.

Undil steps on to one of the platforms, eager to further his advancement through the Thalmor hierarchy. A steady stream of light began creeping out of the floor, slowly engulfing him in to a semi luminescent ball of energy. One would describe the sensation as a cold electrical current running up your body. As the swirling energy surrounded Undil, his dark Thalmor robe and amulet began to rise, the magnetic forces counteracting gravity. The electromagnetic shell began to solidify around Undil, then shrunk in to bolts of lightning, shooting down in to the floor. The stream of lighting flows all the way down, striking with dull roar as he reappears.

He exits the tower to beautiful sunny weather, complimenting the color of the vibrant crystal. Stepping on to the cart, Undil takes a moment to breath in the beauty of the landscape. The unique vegetation of Alinor was in full bloom, the cool wind from the nearby mountains blowing down through the tall trees and twisted fungi. He truly loved his homeland, and loathed the thought of leaving, but his undying devotion to the Thalmer order allowed him to sit on that cart, as it carts him off to an unknown destination.

As he takes his leave, the last thought to cross his mind is that of popular fable, an old tale some still tell to this day. Long ago it was rumored that Alinor was not just some plot of land, broken off from mainland Tamriel. Legend says it was not forged naturally over a millennia, but created in a day using magical forces. The Ayleid were credited with taking the best of parts from every province and piecing it together to form the ultimate continent. Undil truly believed in this story, just as he believed in Lord Vortheer.


	5. Lords of Ice

Chapter 5

Lords of Ice

POV Darious Wulf

**The freshly melted snow drips off the pine leafs of the mountain trees** as the sun hits them for the first time of the day. The passing of winter will comes as a welcome comfort, Darious thought to himself, as the drips fall on to his head. Unlike most Nords he prefer the warmer months. He places the Bonemold bow around his shoulder and puts his hand to the ground, in search for any tracks hidden by the nights light snowfall. After lightly brushing away some snow, He makes a discovery and signals to his brother. As Cyrus grows closer he takes note of the newly discovered tracks.

"Finally, after several damn hour of tracking our luck has managed to match our pace." He said relieved.

With the aid of the freshly risen sun, the newly discover pair of tracks seem to be leading up the hill, out of the heavily wooded area. Darious takes a closer look to identify the source of the tracks.

"One of them appears to be a Elk, but the other is definitely from a cave troll."

Cyrus replies "For being such a huge burden on the area, it sure took us a long time to track them, two hundred gold for each troll right?"

"Right, and you can keep the full bounty, I have no need for more coin."

"That's good considering not all of us are lucky enough to marry in to money." Cyrus pauses for a moment. "Milk Drinker."

Darious can't help but grin as he grasps his Talose amulet and tucks it in to his hide armor. He tightens sheath to his Nordic blade, as well as anything loose that could make any noise. Cyrus dose the same to assure a quite approach. They slowly follow the tracks, stepping lightly as to avoid the crunch of the snow. Half way up the slope they check again for the tracks to see if they had changed direction. Hunting in the snow, no matter how deep, is a game of time and patience. The experience of hunting in these mountains for most of his life helps Darious to find the tracks, and follow them over the hill.

**Once on the other side of the peak they discover two cave trolls hunched over a dead elk**. The beasts stand in front of a cave at the bottom of a cliff face, about forty five feet down the hill. Being yet untouched by the rising sun the brothers slowly make their approach down the hill, hoping that the feast will distract the trolls long enough to maximize the chance of a kill shot.

In a calm voice Darious whispers "The trolls in these mountains are well known for their ability to take shots and keep coming, so we have to make our arrows count."

As they get into position, Darious slowly leans back, and settles in to the snow. Cyrus moves off, hiding behind a fallen tree and makes eye contact with Darious, holding up three fingers. Darious nods and reaches in to his quiver, pulling out three steel arrows, one for each eye. He places two of them in the snow to his left. The trolls are no more than twenty feet away at this point, but the brothers have the advantage of higher ground. Darious knocks an arrow in to the bow and takes aim as Cyrus takes up his position to the right, slightly further down the hill. As they wait for the right moment two larger trolls lumbered out of the dark cave, further complicated things.

Darious signaled for Cyrus to wait, quickly reaching in to his pouch, pulling out a dark green vial. Drawing several more arrows from his quiver, he places them in the snow adjacent to the others. Darious quietly pops the cork, pouring the contents of the vial on all of the arrows, staining the snow violet. He lifts an arrow from the poisonous snow and knocks it, nodding to Cyrus signaling he is ready.

Moments after knocking the first poisoned arrow in to the bow, the sun crept over the hill and hit the trolls. knowing this was the moment, Darious took a deep breath, took aim at the feasting trolls, and let the arrow fly. The poison freezes on the arrow tip as it soars through air, making a sound similar to breaking glass on impact. He quickly grabbed the other arrow and knocked it, drawing back the bowstring for the second shot as Cyrus made his first. As he took aim for the larger troll he took note that he had struck the smallest one in the back, and Cyrus had hit the second one eating in the arm. The trolls began searching for the source of the arrow but when the look in the brothers direction, the blinding sun hides the their position.

They let more arrows loose as the towering beasts franticly searched for the source of the first arrow. Cyrus merely skimmed the smallest troll but the arrow Darious shot was flawless and hit its mark, piercing the trolls top eye, its body slumping to the ground instantly. At that instant the other three trolls let out deep bellowing roar that echoed through the trees, and deep in to the dark cave.

Three more trolls come out of the cave, taking up position next to one another to locate their attackers.

Cyrus nails the biggest one in the throat, blood spurting all over the other beasts. However the shot gave away his position and the trolls take off at a frantic pace towards his position.

Cyrus boldly yells. "I guess they want to go out with a fight." As he drops his bow and stands up, unsheathing his Dwemer Claymore.

Darious yells, trying to warn his brother of their strength, but all he can get out is " Don't charge."Before Cyrus takes off, charging straight at them anyway.

Darious knocks another arrow and takes aim for the lead troll, since the poison had not yet taken effect. He gently breathes out before letting the arrow fly, hitting the lead troll in the head and killing it before it engaged Cyrus. But the following beast was on its heels, swinging both its arms recklessly. But Cyrus managed to roll forward through the snow, ducking underneath the blow and ending up at the trolls six. Quickly he turned around, shaking the cold snow from his face and swiping his blade at the back of the creatures neck. He had slightly misjudged the distance, barely hitting his mark, but it was enough to sever the trolls ability move its body.

The poison finally takes effect just in time as two of the troll in the rear trip and fall over exhausted. Darious had struck three trolls with the poisoned arrows, the two exhausted trolls that fell behind were the first to be struck with the poisoned arrow, the other lye dead in snow. While the poison drains almost all of the creatures strength, it takes a while to kick in and will only last a moment.

The next creature swings its left arm high in the air with the intention of crashing down on to Cyrus, but he defended well, placing his claymore over his right shoulder to counter. He twists down to his right and swung his sword upward to meet the trolls arm. When blade meets bone the trolls left arm is loped off and bounces off his left pauldron before hitting the ground. Cyrus lifts his blade over his head, preparing to finish off the wounded beast. But the troll seemingly unfazed, used its right arm to slam in to his ribs, cracking the iron cuirass under the right arm. This knocks Cyrus off his feet, causing him to hit the snow face first. Darious reaches for another arrow out of his quiver, knocks it, and lets it fly, managing to strike the creature in the upper torso. But it was only dazed for a moment, breaking the arrow off at the shaft. Cyrus manages to crawl to his claymore laying in the snow, grasping the freezing hilt. But the troll grabs Cyrus by the neck before he could stand, and with only one arm lifts him high off the ground, claymore and all. Darious goes for another arrow but before he can knock it, the beast uses his crushing grip to lift Cyrus in to the line of fire. He stands up and takes off, trying to get a better angle, but then Darious notices the Dwemer claymore still in his brothers hands. As he attempts to flank the troll Cyrus plunges his long Claymore straight through the trolls belly. Cyrus had never let go of his blade, and now the blood gushes out of the troll. Yet even that didn't loosen the beasts grip, so Cyrus placed his right foot on what remained of the arrow in the trolls chest, and pushed off with all his strength. He broke the creatures grip and fell back to the ground, giving Darious to opportunity to let his final arrow loose, striking the beast in the throat. Cyrus scrambles back to his feet and delivers the killing blow to the now kneeling troll, all while shouting "and that makes it six hundred!"

Darious took the boast as a sign his brother wasn't seriously wounded and quickly shouted. " The ones lying behind you is only wounded! Finish them off before the poison loses effect!"

"Oh so we have stragglers eh?" he said as he turns around and casually plunges his sword into the poisoned trolls neck. "OK NOW its six hundred!

He goes to finish off the final troll but Darious nails it in the head with an arrow before he can get close. Cyrus yells "So they have to be unconscious for you to get a kill shot, is that right?"

"They were all struck with my arrow, if you but gave it a moment and not charged in like you're a one man army maybe I wouldn't be short a cuirass right now."

Cyrus lifts his arm up and looks down. " Oh ... Um ... Well I bet your glad you have plenty of coin to fix this piece a junk."

"Let us get out of this cold

They both let out a laugh before heading to the cave, were they find out that their venture had been even more lucrative than first thought. On top of the bounty for the troll heads there were three freshly killed elk not yet mutilated by the beasts. Cyrus collects the troll heads and pack them up as Darious skins the elk, carving out any edible meat for the journey home.


	6. The Two Sides Of A Coin

Chapter 6

The Two Sides Of A Coin

POV Undil Rumeir

**A Thalmor convoy moves north on the green road from Leyawiin to Bravil**, the carts carrying both soldiers and supplies needed for the war effort. Undil lounges alone in the lead cart as he peers over a familiar tome, his nostalgia growing as he ran his fingers over the weathered ink scribed upon the parchment. He prefers to be without the banter of others, using the silence and adored family heirloom to ignore the rotting bodies and burning villages of those of those foolish enough to stand against the Thalmor. Undil was thankful to at least able to ignore the sight of the massacres, loathing that particular portion of war. However many of the Thalmor soldiers use flames on their enemies to cause panic, unfortunately making the pungent odor of burnt flesh inescapable.

Upon reaching the southern camp outside Bravil, Undils cart pulls up to the central hub as the rest continue on headed for the front line. Stepping out of the cart adorned in his newly elevated Justicar robes, he stretches before looking around to take in his surroundings. The city is completely surrounded by a portion of Lord Narrifins army, the walls ravaged from days of siege catapults. Undil approaches a Mer eating near a tent, his left pauldron clearly damaged from battle.

"Soldier, stand to attention." He says with a condescending tone in attempt to hide the fact he is new to the battlefield.

The soldier pauses for a moment without looking towards Undil, then takes a final bite of his bread. He puts his food aside and stands to attention, waiting till the last possible moment to make eye contact. "Yes Justicar?"

Undil shakes off the slight lapse in protocol as a isolated moment caused by the resent battle. "Are you privy to the whereabouts of Lord Casaveer and Lord Adiveer?"

"Lord Casaveer is in his tent, on the western tip of the camp. I do not know the location of Lord Adiveer. Are you going to attempt to convene with him, Lord Casaveer that is?

"Yes I have orders straight from the Grand Lord himself." He boasts proudly.

The Mer smirks and in a sarcastic tone adds. "Good luck." as he takes his seat and continues to eat his meal.

Undil stares at the Mer curiously for a moment before heading for Casaveers tent. Taking the long rout that hugs the edge of the camp, he looks outward checking for any movement in the distance foliage. As he passes by the catapults that line the edge of camp he takes note of the effort that is necessary for the preparation of the siege weaponry, requiring several strong Mer to load the contraption and fire. After the inspection Undil turns his stride towards the center of camp, headed in the direction of Casaveers tent. As he makes his approach, Undil passes by every part of the ever expanding Thalmor war machine. From groups of Mer drilling various magical attacks under experienced and talented Sontras, to Elvin smiths forging hardened Glass armor from Malachite, despite being so far from the minerals natural source, he witnessed firsthand why the Thalmor have been so successful in their campaign.

**As Undil grows close to the large tent, he can almost hear a argument coming from inside** despite the countless noises that came from the bustle of the camp. He enters the tent in search for Casaveer and Adiveer, but ended up stumbling in to a heated debate between Casaveer and an unknown voice coming from the other room. The topic of debate was an ancient Thalmor battle, and the tactics they used to win said battle. Upon moving further in to the tent, he discovered that the other voice was Casaveers twin brother Mantel, as he sticks his head from around the corner to his quarters. Undil's eye brows shot up and he had to suppress his laughter after realizing what Mantel was doing while arguing. The eccentric Mer was in the middle of making love with a small Bosmer girl, yet to Undils surprise, Mantel is able to stay engaged in the argument from the other room, while simultaneously having sex with a petite Bosmer woman. Tilting his head around the corner of his room every now and then when a point needed to be made, Undil at stares momentarily while trying to wrap his head around what he just walked in to, and how any Mer, let alone the offspring of the Grand Lord himself could get away with such actions while in the mist of this war.

After a moment Undil regains his sense and recognized the topic of the Debate, having studied the specific battle under his Sontra. It is about a Thalmor General by the name of Lord Deran, and how he led a group of six hundred Mer to stop a Bosmer rebellion in Valenwood. He spent two months hunting them down one by one until the remaining wood elves regrouped in Arenthia because it was one of the rare walled Bosmer settlements. This was the case because every year without fail the city would flood due to being surrounded by a marsh on three sides, so they built a wall to surround the city and keep out the water. Sure enough this was the time the city would be flooded so the only way in to the city is two large bridges and one small rear entrance. The town had been under siege for five days but they were holding out, so Lord Deran split up his army in to three and on the sixth day he ordered them attack each gate. He attacked in the morning, anticipating that the battle would last till the night due to the bottleneck. He believed he would be able to trick the rebels in to thinking the Thalmer forces were far larger than they actually were by using the cover of darkness and optical illusions, like the lighting of fake torches and one archer shooting several arrows at a time. The weakened rebels were further distracted by the divided army, and divided their force accordingly to combat the joint attack. This caused the city to fall in a day and a half but at the cost of four hundred and sixty three Mer. Deran was praised for being able to defeat an army of two thousand with only a few remaining Mer.

Undil does his best to gain their attention, but is swiftly blown off due to the friendly argument.

Mantel pulls out of the elven girl and walks in to the room his hair is disheveled and untrimmed. Walking over to a table, he gulps down one of the several glasses of wine then wipes the excess from his clean cut goatee, speaking in a tone more playful than serious. "I fail to see the tactical genius in losing three quarters of your army, perhaps you can enlighten me in how that lives up to your, Thalmor standards."

Casaveer sits composed at a desk, his face covered by the Justicar robes. He is filling out an unfamiliar document, yet responds promptly. "There sacrifice was essential, beneficial to the Thalmor end game."

Mantel fills his glass. "It was a clever idea made come to pass by a sloppy, desperate Mer. Nothing more."

"A decisive victory is not enough? Well then tell me oh wise brother, what would you of done differently?" Casaveer says breaking his attention from his work.

Mantel takes another large gulp from his cup, wine spilling down his bare elven chest. He is small for a high elf, but clearly he can handle his wine. "A rebellion is not only susceptible to open combat, but also to a lack of faith."

"Elaborate." Casaveer says curiously.

"Bare with me brother it can be difficult for some to grasp." Mantel says with a smirk. "Convince the rebels that despite victory, there is no hope to prosper. That even if they win, its only a matter of time until they are brought to justice. Then sit back and watch the cowards come forth, tearing their bold leaders limb from limb. I believe if put in charge, I would of returned victorious, with my Mers stomachs as full as my ranks."

Casaveer "You mean to tell me you would convince the Bosmer rebels to betray their cause and surrender.

Mantel takes another large gulp of his wine and lets out a loud burp. "That sounds accurate."

Casaveer lets out a hearty laugh. "I will believe you when I witness the act myself. I believe their sacrifice to be essential Mantel, it was beneficial to the Thalmor end game."

Mantel "This Thalmor end game you keep spilling from your mouth, do you even have a inkling of that that entails?" He says with passion in his voice.

Casaveer turns his head. "I don't pretend to know the politics that accompany war, whether it be then or now."

"Ah yes Casaveer, I the blind pride of a warrior how could I forget."

Undil`s voice finally breaks through the argument as he yells out. "I have orders from the Grand Lord! Where is prince Adiveer?"

The brothers pause and look towards Undil. "Interrupting people is rude young Justicar, Be mindful of who you inconvenience. Not all Mer share my level of apathy " Mantel says sarcastically.

"Adiveer is not here, He is north planning strategy with Lord Naarafin." Casaveer says extending his hand to receive the parchments. "I will take the orders."

Casaveer reads over his orders as Undil is about to leave. "What do the orders hold?" Mantel asks curiously.

"They simply instruct me to follow the lead of Adiveer." He replies furiously.

"Once again father places us under command of that arrogant prick."

Undil quickly takes his leave, uninterested in becoming involved in their family issues. As he steps outside of the tent, he gets a good look at Bravil as it is beautifully lit up by the mid day sun. Such a small city for the proud Imperials, he thinks to himself as he head down the path to his assigned tent. He can see the walls had been battered and the gates have been weakened, shouldn't be too hard to cut the thread of life this city holds on too. Undil enters his tent, preparing to patiently wait for the arrival of Lord Adiveer.


	7. The Sting of Knowledge

Chapter 7

The Sting of Knowledge

POV Darious Wulf

**The sun has already been in the sky for several hours** as Darious and his brother cross the final bridge before reaching Wayrest. Despite being winter, the midday sun had warmed the air, and the sound of the calm Iliac Bay could be heard over the comfortable silence. They approached the stone walls of Wayrest, rich with success and a sense of accomplishment. Only the first venture and Cyrus had already gained nearly half the amount he needed to keep the family house entrusted to him. The success of their journey has strengthened the brothers bond, after it had been strained from years of separation. They arrive to the city gates in the early afternoon, joking and telling stories of times past.

"Either the summers we spent in Anvil as children, you know, back when mom was alive. Or when we got snowed in at grandpa's cabin for two weeks." Darious says while extending his arms, enjoying the sunlight.

"Those are your most fond memories." Cyrus laughed. "Really? A Imperial Ranger for five years, a sell sword for what, seven, eight years? Your telling me you saw nothing more interesting in your travels than a mundane family trip to a farm and a snow covered cabin?

"Without a doubt." Darious responds in a defensive tone. "We clearly have differences in rearguards to memories held close to heart."

Cyrus laughs. "What I meant is more along the lines of glorious battle your eyes were lucky enough to behold, or perhaps the most satisfying victory obtained by your hand."

"Ha, well in that case, it would be when father surrounded the pirate fleet of Gideon Ohana north of Vvardenfell, trapping them In the Sheogorad bay near Dagon Fel."

"Ah yea, thirty six ships sunk in one shot. Must have been quite a sight, wish i was there for that one. How long was dad tracking those damn pirates?"

"Three months, then it took him another to heard them in to that bay. He knew if they formed a blockade to trap them in the bay, it would destroy most of the enemy fleet due to the jagged rocks that protrude out of the water during low tide. Only fifteen ships remained, most surrendered but some were foolish enough to attack. "

As they near the city gates, the road becomes crowded with people coming and going, some traders or merchants, others towns folk and children. A neighbor of Darious passes by on his way out of the city. "Quite a catch you got there, going to be eating well for the next few days I see."

"Bring your family by tomorrow night and you can have some of Arielle's Venison stew." Darious says in response as they greet one another by grasping each other's forearms. "I must be blessed by the nine for not growing to Naddins size for how much of it I am able to eat."

In a playful tone he retorts. "No, you are blessed by the Nine to have a woman such as that as your wife."

"You speak the truth my friend. Ah yes, this is my brother Cyrus of Markarth." Darious says as the men greet one another."

"Good to meet you Cyrus, I would stick around for a moment but I fear I must head to Meniva for supplies."

"Of course Colin, I will see you tomorrow. Best of luck in your travels." He says before parting ways.

"Quite a arm for a Breton, who is he?" Cyrus asks as they step on to the draw bridge leading in to Wayrest.

"A neighbor of mine, names Colin Detritus. And your right, a hearty man for a Breton full blood. You should see him put away Eidar cheese, he does it like its nothing. The man can cook a mean…." The sentence trials off in to a slow mumble, his tongue seized as his eyes lay focus on troubling sight.

**Upon entering the city, Darious instantly spots a messenger outside his house** down the street, his wife collapsed to the ground in tears beside him. He drops his bounty and takes off towards his grief stricken wife, his mind racing with thoughts of what brought his love to tears.

"Arielle what is it, what has happened, where are the boys?"

"The boys are safe." she says still sobbing. "It is your brother Galdor, he and his men were defeated outside of Kvatch."

"Galdor was attacked? By who?" Darious stands up in awe by the news. "How did this... How?" He says while turning to the messenger, who was clearly exhausted from traveling the distance needed to deliver the message quickly.

"My name is Kavar of the Seventh Legion," he says breathing heavily, "we were forced to retreat in to the Alik'r desert." He takes in a deep breath in, "Forced upon the cursed sand by the damn elves. The Thalmor attacked us outside Kvatch as we made way for the Imperial City."

Darious can't help his mind race through question after question. "The Thalmor? Why did they attack my brother? Is he ok?"

The scout manages to regains his breath. "Word has not yet reached Wayrest? The Empire has declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Is he alive!" Darious yells out, tired of the imperial avoiding the question.

"Apologies I do not know his fate, I should of known that would be your biggest concern. He was injured in the battle and still lay unconscious upon my departure."

Cyrus runs up with most of the supplies, overhearing the imperials message. He can't believe his ears and falls to his knees with a dumbfounded look upon his face. Darious overhears him muttering to himself. "My brother lay dying in the desert and I was fucking hunting."

Darious grabs the messenger by the tattered collar of his Imperial armor and yells. "What of his men? What of the soldiers?"

"Falling in the desert will be the fate for most, the sand ripping moisture from our very bones with every step. I was ordered to head here after Sentinel, in case the first two messengers did not survive the sands." He looks down to the ground in anguish. "A fate I fear came to fruition."

"Where are the men now?" Darious says while rushing his words. "Who gave you the order?"

"Curtis was the one who set me to purpose." He says finally able to catch his breath. "The Imperials near Sentinel are making camp three miles outside of the city for the wounded, but I fear their pace would put them only halfway through the desert."

Darious throws his pack from his shoulders, ripping a map from the contents inside and throwing it to the ground.

"Quickly, show me on the map where the camp to be placed." He turns to Arielle as the man draws the location of the camp, hugging her tightly. "I need you to get my gear ready, I know I just returned but we need to go figure out what in Oblivion happened."

She hugs him back tightly. "I am so sorry my love, Of course I will get everything ready you go tend to Cyrus. I will show the Imperial to Imperial embassy."

Darious approaches his brother as he stares towards the ground, his confused stare morphing in to a look of pure hatred. He kneels down next to his big brother, being sure to lean over and look into his eyes as they swell with rage.

"If Galdor is dead, you need to channel that hate. Control your rage and be sure to dish it out on those responsible." Cyrus does not speak, he just looks up with an intensity that would strike fear in to any man or Mer and nods.

They quietly dawn their finest respective armor, for Cyrus the heavy Dwemer armor he arrived in. For Darious a lighter Newtscale Curiass with chain mail underneath, a strong piece he received from Roderic in accompany with his Nordic blade after returning from Morrowind. The rest of his armor is finely forged steel plate, pieced together from a master craftsman. Despite the light armor he prefers a thick shield, so he brings his trusty Banded iron shield.

Darious steps out of his house to the cool air fully equipped for a long journey, with Cyrus following close behind. Arielle stands in front of the house with their two sons, prepared to say farewell to their father once again. It pains Darious to leave his children again, but he knows he must do everything he can to learn the fate of his brother. Cyrus patiently waits as he approaches Arielle with his family's safety in mind.

"I need you to take the boys to a safe place, if the scout was accurate, Wayrest is no longer safe."

Arielle answers quickly. "I can take them to Daggerfall, the council chambers will most likely be the safest place in High Rock during these dark times."

"That is quite a journey my love, a week at the least." Darious says concerned. "If you are for Daggerfall go talk to Luther when you bring the scout to the Imperial consulate, request their best knights to accompany you on the road."

"That is a good idea, they will gladly help us get there safely, they owe us that much." She kisses Darious passionately. "Be safe Danrious, you had better come home in one piece for if you don't, I will find you in Sovenguard."

Darious smiles, then kisses his wife again, as if it was the last they would share. Looking to his two sons to say farewell, speaking to his eldest son Alix first.

"You're the man of the family until I return Alix, be sure to look after your younger brother. Keep him and your mother safe." Alix nods, "You got it dad." He is old enough to grasp the situation and does not get smart as was his nature.

"Danous, you remember what we talked about, don't you ever forget it." He nods to his father, holding back the tears.

They turn heel and head for the city gate, the family watching as they take their leave. The two children wave farewell to their father and uncle as they head off with the setting sun.


	8. Enduring Honor

Chapter 8

Enduring Honor

POV Galdor Wulf

**The glaring sun breaks through the cracks of Galdor's eyes** for the first time in days, and he is blinded by the light. Because of this, his vision is blurred and he cannot discern between the men that carry him. His entire body seared with pain, every small movement requiring an enormous amount of effort. His mouth is dry, far more than he has ever experienced in his life. Finally a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"He finally wakes" Curtis says standing over the wounded General, trying his best to seem optimistic. "Roderic! he is awake." The Redguard yells loudly.

"My head is pounding, what in Oblivion happened?" Galdors voice is low and raspy, barely able to get the words out of his mouth as it is full of sand, and void of any moisture.

"We engaged the enemy outside of Kvatch, but we were quickly surrounded and our lines breached. You were stabbed in the back by a cowardly Mer, after being struck in the head with a mace and knocked unconscious, a lesser man would be dead from such wounds. Roderic managed to get you off the battlefield before any more damn elves could get to you."

Galdor slowly turns his head only to lay his blurred vision on some of his battered men marching through a vast sea of sand. He lays on a large piece of wood, held by four soldiers in the middle of the line of the surviving Imperials, stretching over three miles long. His surrounding now apparent to him he asks Curtis. "I cannot see well, but there does not appear to be many of us left, how bad did it get?"

"It happened quickly General, they attacked with a ferocity i did not know elves possessed. The battle itself did not last long as your prediction proved to be correct. The Thalmor had attacked Anvil simultaneously with our engagement, so we were left with no other option then to retreat in to the Alik'r."

"What of Clavus and the Fourth Legion?"

"We do not know for sure, but we fear the worst."

"How many, how many men fell?" Galdor struggles to say.

"Two battalions were completely decimated in the battle, most men falling during the retreat. Unfortunately the number of dead has grown as more succumb to the desert heat. We do not know the fate of the fourth Legion."

Galdor lay his head down in agony, the Redguards description of the battle cutting far deeper than his physical wounds. After a deep breath he can hear Roderic loudly ordering the men to take a rest as he approached his side. "How do you feel General?"

"Battered and defeated old friend. The battle," He coughs violently, shooting pain throughout his body. "were you injured?"

"Mere scrapes and bruises, I am fine. But you must rest to heal your wounds," Roderic hands him his canteen. "Drink this."

Galdor takes a large gulp of water, washing down some of the annoying sand that lined his mouth. "What of the men, the ones that survived?"

"They have fared well so far, despite their inexperience with the desert. Curtis and I have done our best to slow their dehydration, but the symptoms have started to show themselves. It is not difficult to make sure they do not to march at midday, or take frequent breaks. But several days at a slowed pace with no talking has eroding the moral."

"How long will this last, where is our destination?"

"We now head for Sentinel."

Galdor is taken back by the destination. "Sentinel? That could take weeks"

"Aye it could, but it was our only choice. The scouts that returned have reported large amounts of smoke in the distance west, all lining up with our major coastal cities. We suspect the Thalmor have simultaneously attacked the coast of Hammerfell along with western Cyrodiil."

This is far worse than anything Galdor ever imagined. He does his best to look up towards Roderic. "Dose Hegathe share the same fate?"

Roderic tenses his grip around the ebony hilt as he nods.

Galdor struggles to put his pain aside for the moment in attempt to reassure Roderic. His mind needs to be clear if anyone was to survive this march.

"She has the best chance of survival in that city out of them all. Im sure when the." Galdor begins violently coughing up blood, unable to finish the sentence. His muscles begin to tense up painfully, and he starts to shake.

"What do we do." He can hear Curtis say frantically.

"Go and get Perth, he is the only one who can help right now."

"Got it." Curtis says as he takes off.

**Perth catches up and quickly approaches Galdor**, pulling herbs from a pack strapped to his dark green robes. "Eat this General Wulf." And hands him a potion that was strapped to his belt. "This is to wash it down."

He looks over the wounds, searching for signs of infection as the herbs take effect. Galdor can feel the numbing sensation spread throughout his body, relieving him of the searing pain. It takes a moment for Perth complete his search but when he does, the looks on his face was enough to worry Galdor, despite having his senses numbed.

The blur starts to morph in to a wave, and everyone's voice is followed with a dull echo. The pain has all but completely faded and he closes his eyes, accepting the effects of the powerful sedative. He can still hear Pearth as he addresses Roderic.

"Is it infection? His wounds should be healing by now." Roderic voice filled with concern.

"It is not infection, it is not even from the wound to his head despite its severity. It is the arrow that struck him in battle."

"The arrow?" Roderic inquires. "How can a minor wound like that manifest such debilitating effects."

"It must be poison." Curtis blurts out, frantically searching for a solution.

"Not poison, the arrow was laced with a magical enchantment, Chrondiasis."

"What in Oblivion is that?"

Perth explains best he can. "It is a powerful enchantment, one that assumes the form of a deadly disease. Many of the men who were unfortunate enough to be struck with arrows share these symptoms. The Thalmor clearly provided their archers with the enchanted arrows."

"Is it fatal?" Roderis says as he checks on Glador, hoping he is unconscious so he does not hear the details of his fate. His eyes are closed, but Galdor still clings to consciousness, and can hear the conversation echoing in his head as the herbs take full effect.

"It can be treated, but not out here. If they are to survive we must get to the apothecary, i fear they have less than four days."

A feeling of hopelessness fills Galdors cloudy mind as he drifts off to sleep, he fears for the final time.


	9. The Burning of Bravil

Chapter 9

The Burning of Bravil

Trying a New POV Casaveer Arantis, Hope you enjoy.

**Casaveer walks up the path to Undils tent as the soldiers scramble to prepare for Adiveers arrival**. He marches forward fully prepared for battle, sporting a full set of Elvin Glass armor, and two swords at his left side. One is a short Elvin blade made from Moonstone with an ebony sheath and hilt that he forged when he was a young boy. The other sword was his prized possession, a sharpened Katana in an Akaviri style with a golden inlay of ancient Akaviri and Aldmer writings. It was a one handed blade but he crafted an extended golden ebony hilt for dealing with larger adversaries. When he completed the blade several years ago he dubbed it Rahtan, which translates to reach in Ayleid. He was proud to say that everything he had was forged by his own hand.

Unlike his siblings, Casaveers silver hair is cut short and slicked back so he can comfortably wear his helmet. He enters the room, the sun glaring of the green glass as he waves Undil over to inform him of Adiveers arrival. Casavees does not waste any time to fill him in and head for the front line, where Adiveer is already riling up the soldiers.

"Will Mantel not be joining us?" Undil says timidly as they move through the Thalmer camp.

"No, he is not exactly the fighting type."

"Quite perplexing, he being your twin and all. I thought all Mer were required to fight for the Thalmor."

"He provides his unique talents when they are required, however most frown upon his methods." Already agitated, he attempts to end the young mers badgering. "You need not concern yourself with Mantel. He is an eccentric Mer but his skills are not lacking."

Undil says nothing, only nodding in acknowledgment. Casaveer did not know what to make of the young Justicar, but he admired his drive. They walk the remaining distance in silence, passing by dozens of Mer preparing for the battle.

"Do your best to not mind Adiveer" Casaveer casually says in his deep voice as they grow closer, breaking the silence. "He comes off as a cocky prick."

They approach Adiveer as he is in the middle of catching his men up to speed, yelling out orders from the top of a overturned cart. He is adorned in the customary Justicar robes, but has added ebony plate down the side of his arms that connects to a custom black Elvin breastplate covering the dark cloth.

"Adiveer." Casaveer yells loudly. "Father has sent word."

He turns and stares at Undil who wears his identical Justicar robes, completely ignoring Casaveers words as he takes a shot at Mer. "So they will let anyone wear the robes these days. Better throw some armor over that boy, were not playing games here."

"Just take the orders." Casaveer says while tossing the bound parchment.

**As Adiveer reviews the parchment a man on the battered wall of the city takes note of the several Justicars** conversing near the sea gate, and throws a flaming torch over to the Thalmor side of the wall. It was clearly a signal to attack as a large group of raggedy guards and soldiers lunge out of the water and charge up the steep hill towards the two Justicars. They had been swimming underneath the gate blocking the river and waiting under the water, a bold but clever technique. Surviving only by using a hollowed out root that naturally grows straight out of the water in the surrounding area, they were able to extended it to the surface for air. This also made it go unnoticed by the Thalmor.

The men yell wildly as they charged out of the water and up the steep hill, a common trait from cornered beasts. Casaveer moves to the front of the line and grabs the hilt of his Akaviri Katana strapped to his left side with his right hand, patiently waiting for the first man to attack. The Mer soldiers nearby quickly create a line next to Casaveer, separating the Justicars from the approaching imperials.

The first guard wildly threw his sword over his right shoulder, water dripping from his armor as he attempts to bring it down on Casaveers. He waited for the very last moment to draw Rahtan. Then in the blink of an eye, Casaveer drew his sharpened blade and swung up at the guard, slicing through his steel armor and severing the man's right arm, shoulder, and head in one fluid motion. He then unsheathed the Elvin short sword and holds the blade facing downward. Blocking a second imperials attack with the short blade, he kicks an adjacent man back down the steep hill and slices at the soldier with Rahtan, spilling his insides to the grass. Casaveer is narrowly caught by an archer further down the hill, as an arrow skims off his glass pauldron. Peering down the hill he identifies the culprit who knocked the arrow and decides to break rank, charging down the hill straight in to the imperial force. Casaveer heads towards the archer while parrying two separate attacks, passing the men by knowing the Mer behind would strike them down before they could pose a threat. Without losing momentum he dodges another attack and kicks the man directly to the side of the knee, breaking his leg instantly. He then turns his back to the archer as he swipes his sword at a second man with the Katana, easily slicing through the light imperial armor. Before turning Casaveer took note of the pesky archer taking aim at him once more, so he rolled backwards so as to avoid the arrow but not lose any speed. Upon completion of the maneuver he jammed the Elvin blade in to the thy of a charging imperial, using him as an anchor to quickly spin back around and block an incoming sword. Rahtan sparked as it clashed with the imperial long sword, grinding down towards the hilt. Casaveer was kneeling when the guard attacked so he could not overpower him. But he ripped the Elvin blade from the imperials thy allowing him could moved in close and slit the bearded mans throat.

As the imperial falls to his knees, blood pouring out of his neck, the archer down the hill comes in to view as he lets loose another arrow. But Casaveer quickly ducks down as the arrow flies over his head and in to the injured man he used for an anchor moments ago, cutting the tether of life.

The archer stares at Casaveer, appalled at what he just did. Another guard in full steel armor makes attempt on Casaveers life, attacking with a large matching steel battle ax. He moves swiftly, avoiding each lumbering swing with grace while swiping at the man, steadily breaking off parts of the armor. He rolls under a heavy swing and upon completion turns around and swipes at an exposed part of the guards back, right below the cuirass. The man screams and puts his hand to the wound, dropping his weapon in the process. But before Casaveer can capitalize an arrow whizzes past his Glass helm, missing by only inches.

He looks to the archer who has now moved even closer, and when they lock eyes he smiles and holds up his hand, clenching his fingers close together insinuating the close call.

The man screams in frustration and knocks another arrow, this time unencumbered by chance of collateral damage. Casaveer stands tall and readies himself, as he can see the guard in his peripheral vision fall over in pain, no longer a threat. As the archer knocks the arrow, he sheaths the Elvin blade and grips Rahtan with two hands, grabbing the lower part of the hilt in preparation for the shot. The archer must of pulled the string back with all his strength as the arrow comes flying towards Casaveer with deadly speed and accuracy. But he was prepared as he swipes the Katana at the arrow, clipping the front and altering the trajectory of the arrow just enough to avoid damage. He grinned as he peered towards the archer, and the realization that no more men lay between the two is clear upon the man's face as he nervously makes attempt at another arrow. He knew it was over. However he did managed to knock the arrow, but Casaveer had already closed the distance and swipes Rahtan at the bow before he can draw back, snapping it in two. The imperial attempts to grab the hilt of his sword but Casaveer draws his Elvin blade and slam it down on to the archers hand, piercing through his hand and continuing in to his side.

The imperial screams in pain as his arm is pinned and Casaveer turns, peering up the hill to see the Thalmor finishing off the remaining soldiers. He sheaths Rahtan after he confirms all remaining soldiers are dead.

Sliding the Elvin blade deeper in to mans side, the pain forces the man to fall to his knees, and Casaveer goes down to one knee with the dying man. Casaveer speaks while still looking towards the other bodies on the hill, watching for any survivors.

"Why do you make such foolish attempt, we held the high ground." He says, curious the reasoning behind the attack.

"We sought to cut the head off the beast" The man barely says as blood streams from his mouth. "With hopes of stifling attack, extending." He coughs. "Time for aid."

Casaveer takes off his darkened glass helm, his silver hair partially stained red with blood that seeped through. "A noble effort put to action by true warriors, it is unfortunate I was burdened with the task of preventing you." He looks the man in the eyes when he is positive there is no longer a threat.

"Truer words, could not be found." The imperial says as he closes his eyes and looks away, accepting his fate.

"I shall show you to the afterlife now." Casaveer calmly says as he rips the Elvin blade from the Imperials sternum and stands up. He takes the Imperials sword from his sheath and places it in to the dying man's good hand. He takes the execution stance with his lead elbow high behind his back, his palm against the pummel, and the point of the blade aimed straight for the imperials heart. "You will die with your sword in hand." He says before quickly slamming the point downward with enough force to pierce the man's heart. He then slid the blade out, wiping it clean and sheathing it before making his way back up the hill.

**Before Casaveer can return up the hill** Adiveer had given the order for full attack from the siege weapons and the archers, and moves down the front of the line ordering a full scale attack. He takes note of Adiveer as he gazes upon the flames, clearly elated to finally be done with this retch of a city. His stare intensifying as the Elvin fire rains down upon the wooden houses, quickly engulfing a majority of the entire city. Screams could be heard over the crashing flames, as the people inside the city are burned alive. Those lucky enough to escape the flames unlock the gates and stream out of the city. Adiveer gladly gives his signal, allowing the archers to let their knocked arrows loose, killing any who crosses their path. As the mound of dead outside the gates grew larger, it helped the aim of the siege catapults, who now according to orders were to fire upon the escaping citizens. Dozens of bodies are ignited as the balls of fire crash down on top, transforming the dead in to obstacles for the others attempting to escape. He takes note of Undil, and how he turns away from the carnage, the lack of mercy proving to be too much for the young Mer to take. Casaveer was never a fan of the place itself, but the ruthless nature of the Thalmor was unlike anything he had imagined it would be. Undil managed to take comfort in the facial expression adorned upon Casaveers face, which was far different to that of Adiveers.

Casaveer was visibly disturbed by the ruthless nature of the order, tightly gripping the hilt of Rahtan and tensing his jaw. Undil must of seen this as an opportunity and approaches.

"Is such a outcome truly desirable to the Thalmor?" Undil asks.

"It is not." He says without a change in his expression.

"Then why, dose Adiveer really hate men that passionately?"

Casaveer turns to Undil. "Adiveer is blinded by his need to honor our father."

Backing down from questions, Undil replies. "It is a heavy thing, to have a hand in the slaughter of an entire cities worth of people."

"The amount of dead matters not, I have parted that many from this world, ten times over." Casaveer makes clear.

"Then what moves your frustration?" Undil says, unable to grasp his logic.

"There is no honor in the killing of defenseless people, nor is there a reasonable tactical advantage. Yet time and time again the mistake is made by the ambitions of desperate Mer."

Before long Casaveer had seen enough, walking off to approach Adiveer as he scolds his men for allowing the initial attack.

"Do you forget you Sontaras training?" Casaveer yells out as he peers angrily towards his brother. "You will be making martyrs of every man woman and child in this city, thousands will be able to find new motivation to personally slit your throat."

"I encourage it." Adiveer says loudly. "Let the inferior beings make their attempt on my life. That way we won't have to root them out of the holes we will inevitably force them in to."

"And what will you do when they come Adiveer? Kill them with your ego?"

"Be weary of your place in this army Casaveer. I am in command and my order is absolute."

"Only a fool believes his word is absolute." He says as he storms off the front line. "I will not have my name tainted by the whispers of this day."

Undil was looking for any excuse to leave the front line and seized his opportunity by following Casaveer as he heads back to their tent.


	10. The Truth Below

Chapter 10

The Truth Below

POV Undil Rumeir

**Undil follows Casaveer as he storms back to his tent.** The walk back from the front was a silent as the walk to, with neither Mer saying a word until they enter the tent where Mantel resides.

"That was quite the quick battle Casaveer, what of it?" Mantel says while lounging in an extravagant robe, smoking on his ornate pipe while he reads.

"Adiveer is a fool." Casaveer yells in a frustrated tone as he throws his glass helm to the corner.

"This I know." He says in a nasally tone, exhaling smoke as the words leave his mouth. "The detail is why I inquire."

"The whole city is to be burned, no one who escapes is to be granted life." In frustration Casaveer swipes several empty cups from a table near the entrance.

Mantel stops mid pull and turns to them puzzled. "Unwise, even for Adiveer. I am sure you inevitably gave protest."

"Of course I did , In no world would I stand silent while ignorance leads to disadvantage. But the prick pulled rank."

"He tends to do that when his orders are questioned. So all that blood on your armor is from an argument with our brother?"

"The Imperials made a desperate attempt on the front line when they saw several Justicar's present. The attack was desperate and unorganized, nothing I could not handle."

"Obviously."

"But that is not what's important, was that Adiveers command or a direct order from father. I know you laid eyes on the parchment."

Undil, surprised by the revelation blurts out. "You read Lord Adiveers orders? They can deem you a traitor for such an offense."

Unfazed by the word Mantel calmly replies. "Well then, be sure not to bring that up at the next gathering, and no brother, father did not orders the slaughter of the entire populace. Yet I doubt that detail will make him lose any sleep."

"I will not follow Adiveer if every step he makes is one to incite further massacre."

"Understandable, Go in to the back room brother, there is a lovely Bosmer girl in there that will make all your troubles fade, if only temporarily."

"I fear even a woman's touch won't put my mind to ease."

"Khajiit then. An interesting choice, but who am I to judge." He says with a smile as Casaveer shoots back a blank stare.

"Well if you don't want to take advantage of our position then be my guest, more for me" Mantel says returning to his smoke. "But sometimes excess is the only thing that can numb the shit of the world dear brother, never forget that."

"Of course Mantel, all problems can be solved by a bottle of wine and a stable of whores." Casaveer says as he heads in to his room.

"Ah he's finally catching on." Mantel says jokingly to Undil as he walks up to the young Justicar, putting his arm around his shoulder.

"I trust this conversation stays between us, my father already has enough reasons to despise me, dose he really need another?"

"In this case Mantel, you have my silence." Undil says, despite still being weary of the Mer.

"Good" Mantels says, sitting down to a large meal. "Join me if you please, this land is plentiful with savory delicacies not found in Alinor."

Undil did not desire to join Mantel but his curiosity once again getting the better of him, joins the Mer if only for a brief moment.

He struggles to keep his mind on topic as he sits at the table, bountiful with meats, cheeses and fruits ranging from bore and venison meat, to strawberries and watermelon. With copious amounts of unfamiliar snacks and deserts such as sweet cake, shepherd's pie. He picks up a unknown pastry and sinks his teeth in to his new favorite desert, the cinnamon sweet roll. The luscious taste was almost enough to take his mind off of the horrid events he just witnessed, almost. Casaveer should try these, he thinks to himself as he rapidly devours the pastry.

"So, what moves your thoughts young Mer." Mantel says as Undil swallows the final bite. "Your mind clearly seeks some sort of resolution."

"I am curious as to the argument you two shared the other day, you and Casaveer that is."

"You will have to be more specific." Mantel says with a mouth full of food. "Casaveer and I tend to debate commonly and cover numerous topics."

"The ancient battle lead by Lord Deran, you were arg, er debating the topic upon my arrival. Casaveer praised his tactics the other day, yet did he not commit the same acts that we do now?" Undil says to Mantel, unable to see the difference.

Mantel lights his pipe, taking a deep drag before speaking. "What of the women and children in Bravil?"

"They are to share the same fate as those who fight." Undil says mournful of those who will meet a needless end.

"There were no women or children in Arenthia, the rebels had evacuated the civilians before Lord Derans arrival." Mantel says as he takes a bite of his meal, fully aware he just ended the conversation with that comment. "That is the contrasting detail."

**Undil had forgotten that detail in the story**, and now the delicious snack had turned in to a knot in his stomach, and decides to leave the tent, unable to eat any more after such a day. He gives his respects and walks out to the air only to come to the realization that the sun was setting. He had been awake for hours, but to him it felt like mere minuets. He looks once more to the city ablaze only to make the knot worsen. As he looks back down he notices his hands shaking violently, quickly he covers it up as a messenger walks up.

"Lord Adiveer has instructed all the Justicars to pack their things once victory is assured. You are to head for Alinor in at dawn."

Undil nods to the messenger and starts walking back to his tent, his eyes glued to the ground as the sun set is partially blocked by the smoke of the burning city nearby.


	11. Approaching Purpose

Big Thanks to DeusExfreak for this first review. I am going to do some editing very soon to limit the purple writing in the first ten chapters, and I will do my best to take it out completely in upcoming chapters as I continue my research. The story will be picking up in intensity very soon as the Great War kicks in to full swing.

Chapter 11

Approaching Purpose

Darious Wulf POV

**The brothers move at a fast pace despite Cyrus and his heavy armor**, cutting over the majestic hills and valleys of High Rock in order to save time. They are almost to the border but they know they will have to make camp eventually, for the sun has fallen more rapidly than their pace. All the wonderful sights of the countryside in Wayrest and even the lure of cheep booze in the Breton mead houses hugging the Iliac Bay were ignored in order to reach their friends in time. They hope to make it all the way to Sentinel in five days even though the journey normally takes two weeks, so they decide to travel through most of the night.

At dawn they finally arrive to a small misty fishing village on the south east edge of High Rock. The small encampment was inhabited with some native Bretons, but to Cyruses displeasure, it was mostly populated with Argonian fisherman. The hamlet was made up of mostly makeshift shanties, wooden shacks, and a small market near the center that is filled with carts littered with old trinkets and the local cuisine put on display. Since the village was hugging the river, most of the carts were devoted to fresh fish and meat, so the brothers decide to stop for a well needed rest, picking up bread and bore meat to gain much needed energy.

There was only one fire pit in the village, so it was used by many villagers at once. But the pit was large, and one of the Argonian's moved his food over so they had enough space for the meat to be thrown on the fire. While cooking around the fire Darious exchanged words with the local Argonian who informs them of several fisherman who might be willing to ferry them across the bay for a small fee. Darious is hesitant at first since he gets horrid bouts of sea sickness, but he pushes the feelings down as he realizes the advantage of saving that much time, and reluctantly agrees. When the meat is cooked they then set off and find one of the aforementioned Argonian fisherman who seemed enthusiastic to escort them across the Bjoulsae river. The village is located at the end of the river, where it meets the Lliac bay, and despite the dangers involved in the current, this is the only part that was passable for a smaller sized boat.

The Argonian they found called himself Blinks, repeatedly. Blinks was willing to ferry them for a small fee, but they quickly realized the price was far steeper than first thought. Darious thought to ask him how he got his nickname, but quickly realized it was for his constant blinking. As they prepare to set off it became very clear that he was very talkative, so Cyrus was frantic to search for another boat, but they were out of options. All the other boats in the village that were capable of holding Cyrus and his heavy Dwemer armor have already set out from port. The ride usually lasts around two hours so Blinks talked the entire first half of the trip in attempt to start a conversation with one of the heavily armed Nords. Cyrus had to fight his urge to just toss him overboard, but half way across the river the Argonian finally caught his attention.

"So where is it too you are headed? for trouble by the way your dressed" The lizard inquired

"Hammerfell Obviously" Cyrus mutters.

"Yes Yes Hammerfell, of course, of course, but what of the purpose of the trip is it"

"That is none of your concern"

"I bet, i bet it is to help out the legion forces in the desert is it not?"He says savoring the possible gossip.

"How do you know that" Cyrus sternly said, turning his heated gaze towards the Argonian. "What else do you know?!"

"Merely rumors, just rumors, only rumors, but they speak of legions being defeated. Many people getting called to Hammerfell and Cyrodiil, and even more injured coming up to High rock and Skyrim."

"And how do you know all this?" Darious barely says as he hangs his head over the edge of the boat.

"Fishing village silly, I fish, And talk with others who fish. We are in trade with the entire western coast of Hammerfell. As of late however the frequency of the visits has slowed considerably."

"Do you know only rumors? or is there a fact hiding in that scaly mouth of yours" Cyrus yells out, almost losing his cool.

"I've told all, I've told all. You know all I know about that, but I know a fascinating story about Frend the Fish Catcher. Once Frend had no bait, but he needed to catch several fish for his father. Thinking craftily he assembles a"

"If you mutter one more word of that story I will throw you over and row the rest of the way myself."

The Argonian opens his mouth but quickly catches his tongue and shuts it, turning to face the destination.

"You're lucky this was a good idea Darious" Cyrus turned back and crossed his arms as he continued. "this boat could easily be saving us twelve hours of our journey."

Darious wanted to respond, but his head was still firmly perched over the edge of the boat as he gave his breakfast to the fish.

"You still get sea sick? Milk Drinker" Cyrus said under his breath.

Ironically this was the first time Darious had cracked a smile since they started the journey. They get across the river safely and luckily banter free. Upon docking and securing the boat Cyrus inquirers.

"Finally." Cyrus says stepping off the boat."Well were in Hammerfell, but what do we do know? Catch a cart to Skaven?"

"We can only camp here for several hours, two hours rest each." Darious says as he steps off the boat. You take your rest first, as I find us the quickest way across the Dragongtail mountains."

"Agreed" Cyrus mutters.

"I will be waiting, Wait, if you need a ride back across" The Argonian yells as they quickly walked off.

**They plan to only rest for a moment **as they search for the quickest route over the immense mountains of northern Hammerfell. The village is nearly identical to the settlement they set out from, the only real difference being the presence of Redguards. Darious searches for the entire two hours, but is unsuccessful in his attempt since most villagers dare not brave the frigid temperature. Cyrus fared better, as he manages to locate an Orc who has hunted in the mountains for years. The Orsimer tells of a mostly untraveled path to the south, cutting through the heart of Dragontail mountains. Rushing to where Darious sleeps, he kicks the Nord awake and slams the map down next to his head.

"If we cross the southernmost mountain of the Dragontail mountains here" Cyrus points to the map "It will take us to a path that will lead directly to Sentinel, we won't have to cut through Skaven.

Elated Darious responds "That's excellent, with the terrain it will take about a day's march, but it will cut another three days off the journey easily." Darious stands tall and equips his gear before Cyrus adds.

"The only thing we have to worry about is local marauders who are suspected of making camp up there, But they shouldn't be a match for us right brother." Cyrus says slapping Darious on the shoulder.

Darious looks in to his brothers eyes. "I feel sorrow for the one who tries to slow our progress on this day."


	12. Sustaining Honor

Sorry about the wait for the next chapter, Hurricane Sandy hit us pretty hard on the east coast and I have been unable to access my files. This was originally not going to be a full chapter but a friend of mine really enjoyed it and encouraged me to flesh it out. Another big thanks to DeusExFreak for the reviews, I appreciate any and all advice to help me improve as a writer.

Chapter 12

Sustaining Honor

POV Roderic Burd

**It is a cool dark place the burly Nord finds himself in**, a stark contrast to the searing heat of the Alik'r desert. The only source of light is a thin beam coming from the small crevice that served as the entrance for the group. "We must be swift," Roderic looks back to his men, half his face coated in darkness. "and silent."

They travel further down the narrow corridor, keeping a keen eye for any movement. Roderic walks at the head of the group with Holger to his left, and Corrin to his right, two able men. They move with caution as most of their armor has been purposely chipped away due to the heat and encumbering weight. His beard had slowly returned and his hair is disheveled from weeks of marching. His stride was heavy and slow, as the weight of the long journey wears on his joints, a burden shared by all the men.

"Where is the water?" Gunder says from behind.

"Deeper," Roderic plainly replies, unwilling to explain any further.

"How deep?"

"Quiet Gunder," Holger says to his brother in a raspy whisper, "and keep your damn ears open."

They all knew what foul beings live in these dens, sand scorpions. Roderic had been warned to avoid these creatures at all cost while serving with the Crowns, one of the more renowned armies of southern Hammerfell. But he finds himself delving deep in to the sand den, pushing his fears aside for the prospect of saving the emaciated Seventh Legion.

Uneasiness filled the ranks as light gave way to darkness, but Roderic could not blame the men as he shared their burden. Only leading only a team of six, he knew they did not possess the strength to take on an entire nest of these foul creatures. But six was all they could muster without leaving the numerous injured unguarded. He took solace in the strength of men he chose, two Nord brothers, three imperials, and the Orc blacksmith, everyone a capable warrior.

"Stop," Gunder says from behind, instinctively putting his hand on Rogduls chest plate "what was that?". Rogdul looks him in the eyes and lets out a growl. He quickly takes his hand off once he caught the Orcs gaze.

"What was what?" Servo blurts out.

"Quiet fool," Corrin whispers in to his ear, his words uneasy and filled with dread.

They were now deep in to the den, and light was sparse. They could not use any torches as anything flammable was used up several days ago to cook the remaining rations. Rodeirc held his hand up to stop the steady advance, "Wait a moment to let your eyes adjust, we must go deeper." After a few seconds his sight became clear and he can see the small tunnel expands drastically up ahead.

While they were waiting Roderic could make out a faint dripping noise, "water," and his optimism grows. Entering the larger part of the tunnel was unsettling as it was almost pitch black, but after all he has been through Roderic pushes the fear aside and carefully moves forward. They don't get to far before Servo trips over a hidden stone and falls hard to the floor. He does not yell or cry out, but the steel hitting the rocky floor let out a loud clang that echoed throughout the darkness. Everyone stays completely still for a moment listening for any rustling the black silence, each hoping the noise went unnoticed.

But there it was, you could hear it coming over the faint drip of water, but the darkness hid its approach. The men spin around wildly, searching the shadows for the source of the skittering that seems to be growing closer by the second.

"**Captain behind you," Gunder yells pointing to the wall behind Roderic.** The large creature had crawled down from the wall striking quickly towards Roderic, but he lunges out of the path and the stinger pierces in to one of the Imperials. Rogdul quickly swipes his steel sword and severs the Scorpions tail, but the stinger still remained imbedded in Corrin's chest. Clawing frantically as it retreats, the creature clamps down on Servos shield, crushing the hardened steel along with the arm held it. His scream echoes loudly through the den as the injured creature shatters his arm, the only thing saving him was Naspis jamming his blade in to the claw, loosening its grip enough to free his arm. As the creature retreats through a small opening in the wall, two more came in to view approaching from two different directions. The men surround Corrin and Servo as the scorpions attack.

"By the nine their fucking huge" Gunder yells, only for his brother to respond. "But like all creatures, they must have a weak point."

Moments after the words leave his mouth Holger ducks under a claw as it snapped at him, ramming his sword down in to the first Scorpions side. But it barely penetrates the hardened shell and the blade is wrestled from his hand as the creature jerks back, then snapped in two with its powerful claws. It launches the stinger towards Holger but Rogdul jumped in the way, blocking the shot with his ebony shield. Gunder manages to throw his spear in to the scorpions side as it was distracted by his brother, but even that did not seem to slow it down.

Behind them Roderic slams his ebony war ax down on to a claw, cracking it in half before it could strike Naspis. The attack left him exposed and he was barely able to get his shield up in time to block the stinger, the force of the blow sending him to his back. He hit the ground hard, the taste of fresh blood filled his mouth yet again as his shield bounced had off his face during the strike. He looks up to see the scorpion slam its claw in to Naspis, his iron shield shattering as the blow sent him flying back. The stinger is now trained on Roderic while he is still on his back. He avoids the first blow, rolling out of the path, but he can barely see the stinger as it is hurled towards him. Again and again the stinger come down and he wondered how long he could even keep this up. The battle was tight and there was not much room to move about, the one thing Roderic needed right now.

But Naspis came in just in time, cutting the stinger off with a single blow before it could land the killing blow. The creature shrieks in pain as Naspis turns to Roderic, extending his hand to help him up thinking the scorpion would retreat as the other had.

"No, turn you fool" was all Roderic could get out as the remaining claw came around Naspin's waist, violently clamping down and slicing him clean in two. Roderic got to his feet quickly and furiously slammed his ax down on to the claw several times, the sharpened ebony shattering it just as the first. As the creature attempted to back away he leaped towards its face and slammed the pike end of his ax down right above its face piercing its brain.

He turns around to see Rogdul roll underneath another attack, ending up to the scorpions right. With its focus now trained on Herder and Gunder, the Orc swiped his sword at the scorpions legs, managing to hit the front to legs before dodging another blow and disappearing in to the darkness. With two of the four legs badly damage, the creatures movements were severely hindered. Gunder takes advantage and runs full speed in to the side of the scorpion, jamming his spear deeper inside. But it still wasn't enough as it attacked his defenseless brother moments later. Herder managed to jump back, but was still badly slashed across his chest.

Just then Rogdul reappeared from behind the Scorpion, slicing its stinger off as he leaps on to its back. He barely doges a claw as it frantically snaps near his face, but once balanced he flips his blade downwards, stabbing the Scorpion above the head repeatedly to assure death.

"Fall back" Roderic says quietly at first, questioning whether or not what he saw in the darkness was real. Shit it was. "FALL BACK," he yells at the top of his lungs as he lifts Servo up to help him get back to the entrance with haste.

"What about Corrin?" Holger yells, grasping his wound attempting to hinder the flowing blood.

Roderic looks to him, a grim look upon his face "The poison is lethal, he is lost," then points down the shaft, "and we are hopelessly outnumbered."

Holger is frozen with fear as he lays his sight on eight scorpions crawling towards them from the depths of their den. Rogdul grabs the stunned Nord by his collar forcing him forward. They all run frantically, no steady retreat, no covering their withdrawal, just a group of soldiers running for their lives like civilians in a siege. It must of taken less than a minute but to Roderic, it felt like an eternity with his wife's face seared over his thoughts of total failure. Did I lead these men to their death? Will Galdor die a slow death in the desert? Will I ever see my wife again?

**Then suddenly light, accompanied by the dreaded heat.** His panicked thoughts fade away as the survivors make it out of the den without further casualties. They catch their breath for a moment, staring at one another in a silent recollection of the traumatic event. It stings to know they are unable to retrieve the bodies, so they pay their respects as best they can before heading off to where the Seventh is camped.


	13. A Bitter Return

Chapter 13

A Bitter Return

POV Undil Rumeir

**After several days on the road** the battered city of Leyawiin finally came in to view, a welcome sight for Undil who was weary from travel. Unlike the first time Undil set his gaze towards the city, it is now fully under Thamor control. It had taken less than a month for the Thalmor to secure southern Cyrodiil, defeating the unprepared Imperial forces fairly easily. Once secured, Lord Naarifin had a stone of recall shipped to the fortification in Leyawiin, allowing quick travel to and from Alinor for high ranking Thalmor agents.

Undil passes through numerous Khajiit forces that are stationed outside the city walls, their number apparently growing every day. This was good news as far as he was concerned, the less elven blood spilled the better. Despite travailing with Adiveer and his personal guard, the trip was fairly uneventful. They were a ruthless bunch and he hoped to be rid of them after reporting back to the Grand Lord. "The sooner I am back in Alinor the better."

**Undil walks down the hall crowded with Mer**, all waiting for their turn to speak to the Grand Lord. He moves to an empty room and placed his hand on the wall to steady himself, his head spinning from using the stone of recall. Even after five trips his body was not adjusted to the unique sensation that followed. After a moment goes by he feels a hand grab his shoulder and a playful voice speaks out. "Not feeling well?" Kelria says, adorned in ebony plated Thalmor robes that apparently everyone but Undil could get a hold of.

"My Sontra, it is good to see you again." Undil says elated to see a familiar face.

"I heard Bravil went according to plan, well done, I was curious to see how you would handle Lord Adiveers." She pauses, searching for the right word. "Aggression..."

"Thank you." He bows his head. "As you said, the city was all but finished upon my arrival. How have your travels fared?"

"Frigid, with a lot of damn snowy. Skyrim is an uncomfortable place, I'll never know how the Nords can stand it. However the news fairs well for the Thalmor. I was pleased to deliver the information to the Grand Lord myself early this morning."

"That is good the hear, hopefully it places us closer to the end of this war."

Kelria smiles as she turns to head for the war room. "Forgive me Sontra." Undil says unable to contain his curiosity. "I have been meaning to inquire to you as to the fate of Forthel."

"You mean the Mer whose position I now hold. Why do you want to know." She stops herself, as the realization of why Undil asked hit her. "Oh You wish to know where he was taken?"

"Yes, I have asked around but no one's lips would part on the matter."

"That does not surprise me, it is a sensitive subject among the Thalmor high command." She looks around, making sure no one lay in ear shot of the discussion.

"They took him to purgatory, where his failures to the Thalmor shall be atoned by providing the foundation for our Lords new center of government."

"Purgatory?" Undil asks, unfamiliar with the name.

"Yes it's called Purgatory, it is one of the grand lords more gruesome punishments. Failure is not an option among these ranks Undil."

"What do they do to you there?" he says, clearly perturbed by her demeanor.

Kelria describes the act as blandly as one could, obviously disturbed by the details herself. "They lock you in a three by six stone coffin and add it to the expanding foundation of the Almidion. You live for around three months, in the dark, alone... and then if you're lucky, eventually you wither away and die."

Undil stands there for a moment shocked, as Kelria puts her hand on his shoulder. "Fear not Undil, you will not suffer this fate as long as you follow your orders," she looks him up and down before she heads off, "and get some armor on those robes." Undil quickly followed behind her as she heads for the main chamber.

**The discussion was well under way** when the two entered the room, nearly filled to capacity with Mer talking strategy. Most of those present in the room were unfamiliar to Undil, with only several recognizable Mer returning from the first meeting. The Grand Lords demeanor was just as stoic as Undil recalled, but this time he attentively listens to the Mer that surround the war table. Undil stands far more weary then the first time he set his gaze upon the Grand Lord, the new found knowledge weighing heavy on his mind. He can't help but look around to the various Mer in the room, curious to see if any of these men would meet the same horrid demise as Forthel. The voice of a passionate Mer finally breaks his laps in concentration.

"They do not fare well in open battle my lord, but their archers are very skilled. So we feel the most optimal way of using the Bosmer force is for border control of Valenwood and Elsweyr should the Imperials attack.

"Very good," he turns to Adiveer who had entered ahead of Undil. "I assume all went well in Cyrodiil."

"That stain of a city wont plague our land anymore."

"Good, we are at their doorstep," He turns to Kataren Sincrest, one of the more formidable Mer among the war council, "are the Khajiit forces prepared?"

"Yes my lord, General Qa Da Rashtar has assured me his army stands ready to strike at any moment."

"That is good, they will prove far more useful than the Bosmer. Have them sweep around the east side of the Imperial City."

"Would you have them attack the Imperial reserves that have been reportedly camped outside of Cheydinhal?" Kataran asks in a suggestive way. "With proper strategy the task should prove effortless. Then we would hold as many cities as the Imperials themselves."

"This is not about number of cities General, they shall report when they arrive and await my orders," The Mer remains silent. "However they are permitted to engage any enemy force in the vicinity."

Before Voltheer could move on Adiveer speaks out. "There is something troubling I need to bring to your attention my Lord." Adiveer looks over to Undil to see his reaction.

"And that would be?" He says raising his brow.

"Casaveer has been increasingly defiant in recent weeks.

"How so?"

"His mind has become clouded since the start of the war, he challenges my authority at every turn."

"A thing of rarity for a Mer of his training, what do believe incites the outbursts?"

"Mantel and his refusal to accept the Thalmor way. Whenever the sorry excuse of an elf speaks he slowly poisons Casaveers mind."

Lord Voltheer takes a moment, placing his hand to his bearded chin while he thinks. "Mantels outbursts have been weighing on my mind for many years now. I had hoped Casaveer would have been able to shape him in to an acceptable Mer, but it seems the opposite has taken effect."

"Their orders my lord?"

"Place Casaveers under Odiveers command. He is to head for Hammerfell in your stead, I would not have this nonsense on my front line. As for Mantel, his orders are to return to Alinor without his brothers protection."

He turns to Undil, pointing at him. "You, what was your name again."

"Undil Rumeir, Justicar under General Naarifin my lord."

"Bring the orders to their knowledge, Marious will provide you with the official parchments."

"Yes my lord." He says, bowing his head before turning to approach Marious.

A map of Tamriel lay in front of the Mer, with the positions and recent movements of known allied and enemy forces alike noted on the map. "Casaveer and Mantel are camped near the city of Anvil," He points his finger to a position on the map, turning towards Undil to assure he notes the location, "so you will report to Arenthia in Valenwood, the closest outpost we have to the city. We have set up a recall station in the city, but only temporarily so you must be quick." He hands Undil the parchments and stares at him momentarily, "That means leave now."

"Yes, of course," he said struggling to hide the joy he had in receiving the chance to leave early. Undil was slightly ashamed at how anxious he felt, but recent event would shake even the most seasoned of minds. At least, he hoped so.


	14. The Crimson Path

Chapter 14

The Crimson Path

POV Darious Wulf

**The brothers had set out hours ago**, with their bellies full and packs filled with fresh supplies. However searching for the hidden path took most of the day, locating the small mountain path just as the sun begins to set. The higher in the mountains they go the more snow they encounter, a factor Darious wished he had considered when packing for the trip. All of a sudden half way up the path, a man steps in their way. However they do not slow down, and keep their pace as they approach the cloaked figure. The man draws his dagger and with a smile begins to calmly speak.

"Good evening fellow travelers, I must admit I was not expecting company on this clandestine path of ours. Unfortunately this road is owned by the Tendril, but don't worry the toll is a mere,"

Cyrus would not even let the man finish as he slams his gauntlet in to the man's face, knocking him to the ground without losing a step. They continue to run up the path for a moment before they realize that there were several bandits on their tail. Darious took note of a tight part of the train further up the path. It has a steep rocky wall on one side, and on the other, a ledge with a near hundred foot drop.

"We do not know how many there are," Darious slows his pace. "We should fight them here where their numbers mean little"

"Agreed, apparently we ran right through their trap."

"Let us lead them to our own," Darious says as he stopped and turned, drawing his bow.

**They wait for the bandits to catch up** to assure they keep the advantage of high ground. Darious tapped Cyrus on the helm and pointed up to a ledge overlooking the path. He looks up and then nods, so Darious climbed up to the ledge for a better view. Cyrus waits in the middle of the path with his Claymore drawn, the snow sticking to his cold Dwemer armor turning it partially white. Four men run up to him, the leader of the group easily discernible to Darious since he appeared to be in full Indoril armor hidden under a dark green cloak. "That is one unique set of armor," he thinks to himself. When the bandit spoke, Darious confirmed he was a native Dunmer due to his armor and tone.

"I'm glad to see you have accepted your fate and quit this needless game of cat and mouse" He says in a deep grumbling voice. "Where is your friend? Not that it really matters, that armor of yours will more than cover the toll, and your life will be a fair exchange for trespassing on our mountain."

"You talk to damn much, Shut up and fight." Cyrus yells.

"Me? shut up and fight? why would the master do the grunt work, that's what I pay these men for" The Dunmer signals for his men to attack.

Two men charge at Cyrus, but he stays calm and keeps his focus on the one to the right. Just as the man on his left lifts his arm for an attack Darious lets his arrow loose, striking the man in the neck, and stopping his attack cold. Cyrus blocks the other bandits attack, sliding his blade up the hilt of the ax, knocking it from the bandits hands. He then simply grabs the lightly dressed Breton by the collar and shoves him backwards, sending him tumbling off the cliff. The other man fell to his knees gasping for air with the arrow imbedded in his neck. Darious knocked a second arrow and took aim at the Dunmer as Cyrus ends the chocking man's suffering with swift decapitation. By this time Darious had knocked another arrow, letting the string gently slip gently through his fingers, sending the arrow towards the Dunmers throat. But before it could strike the target, he pulls the man to his left in to the path of the arrow, killing him instantly.

"I'm glad to see your friend didn't abandon you like a coward," The Mer looks up to the ledge. "Nice shot, that was almost undetectable... almost"

"Your fancy moves don't scare us Mer, can we move this along. We have pressing matters that need attending" Cyrus said in a cocky manner.

The Dunmer laughs loudly, "Oh yea, that was so impressive. You killed two mercenaries that weren't even worth the coin I'm about to take from you. Yet you smirk as if you just became grand champion of the arena." The Dark elf takes his dark cloak off, exposing the full set of battered Indrol armor.

Darious jumps down from the ledge to join his brother as the Dunmer is making his speech. "He is no regular bandit," he whisper to Cyrus "That armor is ancient and I suspect the elf to be just as old."

Thankfully this time Cyrus heads the words, unlike with the troll, and prepares himself to defend the right flank. Darious draws his blade as the bandit is finishing up his speech.

"So enjoy your last breath, and prepare to meet your demise in the name of Mephala!"

He placed his right hand on a weapon that hung off his left hip, then his left hand on to the hilt of a dagger hanging off the right. He stood there for a moment, arms crossed in a cocky stance before unsheathing the blades simultaneously, striking the edges together to cause a spark before holding them outward. One blade was clearly a glass short sword, the other was an unfamiliar dark dagger with an eerie red glow.

He takes charge towards the brothers, leaping in to the air just before he came in to striking distance and landing at their backs. Both men turn quickly and barely manage to block his swift attack, but the blow leaves Darious staggered.

Seizing the opportunity the Dunmer lunges to the left, kicking the legs out from under Darious, while swiftly evading the tip of his Cyrus's claymore in the process.

The Mer circles around smiling confidently before lunging at Cyrus, easily avoiding his claymore and hitting his mark. The glass short sword lands hard but its deflected off the solid Dwemer armor, and Cyrus was able to get a hold of him.

He lifter the Mer high in to the air and tossed him with all his might at the snowy rock wall. But adjusting mid air, the elf softens the impact by landing feet first, then vaults off the wall towards Darious.

Darious stands up and slashed his sword at the Dunmer as he dropped in, but the strike is parried mid air, and the elf thrusts his glass sword towards Darious. He barley twists out of the way, receiving a shallow cut in the process. The pain from his chest shoots through his body, but he was able to doge another swipe from the Dunmer after he had landed.

The dark elf doges the claymore and circles to the middle of the two brothers. He is seems to be looking off, up the hill, but he is holding both weapons towards each of the brothers.

Cyrus and Darious swing at the same time but the Mer managed to duck backwards under the claymore, then spin and parry the Nordic blade, knocking it from his grasp. Darious sacrificed his footing to deliver a hard kick to the Mer's hand, knocking the glass sword loose.

The Dunmer takes advantage, leaping in to the air with his dagger pointing down, luckily Darious catches the Mer's wrist before the fatal blow is landed.

They both falls back but the elf landed on top and Darious struggles to keep the blade from crashing down on him. Before they get in to a full battle of strength Cyrus swings his claymore overhand at the back of the elf, but then almost like he sensed it coming, the elf rolls to the left and the claymore strikes only rock.

The elf had given up the top position but the only thing keeping the dagger at bay was the hardened grip of Darious. He wants to hurt the elf but cant release the dagger in his right hand, so he decides to pin the Dunmers left arm to his chest. This allowed Darious to posture up and deliver several hard elbows to side of the Mer's head. The elbow strikes cut deep in to the Dunmers face, drawing blood before the elf used the momentum to counter back in to top position.

Cyrus`s blade had become imbedded in the rock, but seeing his brother in danger, he let go of the hilt and charged at the two wrestling for position. By this time the dagger had reached an opening in his armor and Darious let out a guttural yell as the blade slowly slid in to his chest despite his best effort.

Acting quickly Cyrus grabs the elf by the left wrist, freeing Darious from the threat of the dagger. Cyrus slams his gauntlets in to the Dunmers face repeatedly then grabbed the back of his greaves, lifting the bloodied Mer off his brother. he tosses the much smaller warrior with enough force to clear the edge of the cliff, sending the Mer plummeting to his death. Cyrus lets out a gasp of air and takes one knee.

"Ok that little bastard could fight."

"I told you." Darious replied while inspecting his wound, "bet your glad you actually headed my warning this time."

"Aye, how fairs your wound?"

"It is not deep, but I will have to sear the wound to stop the blood. The hour is late and we have at least half a day's march before we reach the bottom. We should retire to their camp for a short time."

Cyrus agrees and points to a dim light up a path they had not noticed before. "I would put my coin on that being their camp. Tend to your wound before we continue."

"We must be quiet, in the event there are more of them."

Cyrus agrees and they approach the small camp slowly. Luckily all they found was an empty camp with dinner still cooking in the pot. A much needed lucky break for the weary brothers.


	15. Ensuring Honor

Chapter 15

Ensuring Honor

POV Roderic Burd

**The sun has beamed down on the battered Seventh Legion for over a month now** as the survivors trudge through the blistering hot Arid Valley, the rocky northern portion of the Aliki'r desert. The sea of loose sand has steadily gave way to a hard landscape dotted with large red stones jutting up towards the sky, and the skeletons of ancient Redguard cities long forgotten by time. The region did provide more shade then the dun region, which most called a blessing. But the men had been enduring all sorts of hazards for nearly a month now, exposure being the most deadly, and more than half of their force has fallen since entering the Alik'r.

"In just three days of marching, seventy two men lay dead by exhaustion alone," Roderic says to Curtis. "We both know how far we must be from Sentinel. There is not a single man that doesn't suffer from dehydration or exhaustion, the men can barely carry the wounded."

"If the gods are with the scouts that departed the day of battle, we should run in to a rescue team any day now."

"I fear by that time it will be too late," He stops to scan the vista, "This region has been void of any life for centuries. We have barely been able to sustain the men on rare patches of moist sand and dead animals, here such things would be a luxury. The rocky terrain will be the breaking point for most in our ranks."

"I too see the fear on their faces, but they are strong. Trust in the nine Roderic, we will make it out of this place"

"There has to be another sand den close by, it will be difficult but it's their only chance."

"We are in no shape to take on more of those foul creatures." Curtis says sympathetically "Too many men would fall." Curtis places his hand on the Nords shoulder. "You know this Roderic, are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he says defensively. But he second guesses himself as a feeling of doubt creeps in to his thoughts. No matter how hard he thinks, there doesn't seem to be a feasible way to get the men out alive, not all of them anyway. "I'm just trying to keep everyone alive Curtis. But the task proves to be.…" A voice interrupts Roderic, as he frantically attempted to find a solution. "The General wakes!" He turns heel and rushes back to the men surrounding the General, calling for all the men to take rest.

"Galdor, how do you feel, quickly drink this." Roderic hands him his canteen, fairly low on water.

After only a few sips Galdor hands it back to Roderic. "How much remains?"

"Water has become scarce, we have not seen a drop for days."

"Give what remains to the men, they need it more than I." Galdor struggles to say, his voice as raspy as a native Dunmer.

"What? Galdor don't try to pull that hero crap with me. Drink up these men need you alive."

"What good would I do here? That sip was for the sole purpose of giving me back the voice that was robbed by the sand. " He says as the very voice fades. "You and Curtis hold more knowledge of the desert than I, the men need you."

"Don't feed me this shit Galdor. Drink now." Roderic says, aggressively pushing the water towards his face.

"That's an order soldier; you had your chance to leave." He coughs up blood, every word accompanied with searing pain. "You stayed, so you take orders from me until I am no longer able to give them."

Roderic stares helplessly as Galdor uses the rest of his remaining strength to give his final orders.

"Promise me Roderic, make sure as many of my men survive as possible. You and Curtis are their last hope, I would not have the entire Seventh Legion decimated under my command."

Roderic stares at his old friend, unable to hide his grief. "Aye General, I will see these men to safely to Sentinel."

Galdor seems to lose sense and starts to mumble. Roderic moves in closer to try and make sense of the babel. "The bird must keep its eye on the small wolf."

"What? What do you mean?" He moves in closer but the world around Galdor has already begun to fade.

Roderic hands off the pouch of water to a thirsty imperial carrying another wounded man, respecting the selfless orders. He grabs his old friends hand attempting to slow his drift but it is too late as he has faded back to unconscious. Galdors final words remain a mystery to Roderic as he stares down.

"They are close to death." Perth says looking to Galdor. "He has only two days left if he's lucky."

Roderic releases his hand, rage filling his mind as it racks over his friends sacrifice. He stands tall looking to those who circle the General. He speaks in a low volume, his voice void of any emotion, as he has them repressed.

"Make camp in the ruins nearby, it is almost midday. Rest for three hours, then head north, weather I return or not."

Turning heel, he heads off by himself in search of any sign of their location, fully aware of how dangerous it is during the day.

"Hold on, I'm coming with you." Curtis yells out.

"No, you stay with the men. If I do not make it back you will be the only one left who can navigate the desert. You need to lead them out if I fail."

Roderic can see the bleak look on the Redguards face as he sees the logic behind the statement. He nods as Roderic takes off ahead of the group, still able to draw strength from his years of training in the desert.

**Roderic trudges through the rocky sand with haste**, quickly zapping most of his energy. "Nothing," two hours of frantic searching but still no sign of life, or anything that could sustain it. The best bit of luck Roderic had was spotting an old ruined watchtower in the center of a distance outpost. It seemed to be a futile task, but he had to at least make an attempt. Just like the others ruins that dot the region, it had been deserted for many years, the tower in the center standing at what seems like half of its original height. Yet it did not matter, it still claimed the highest reachable point for miles around, and Roderic intended on taking advantage of the view.

The climb up was as treacherous as the journey itself, with the very stone crumbling beneath his feet. The dangers forced the process to be slow and tedious, Roderic could not afford a injury now, not in the middle of nowhere with so many depending on his success.

The climb zapped most of his remaining strength, but he managed to reach the top safely. Roderic spun around several times, his eyes more focused than ever before as they scan the distance horizon. But still, nothing. At that moment his frustration boils over and he lets out a powerful yell that echoes across the Alik'r before the fatigue forces him to his knees. Just as the final strand of hope was nearly broken, Roderic hears a faint yell, that appeared to be from a man. Forcing his legs to work he stands up, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing in attempt to pinpoint the source of the noise. To the right! He looks towards the direction of the noise, peering towards the horizon with his hope restored, another faint call confirming the origin.

Finally, the sight that Roderic so desperately needed to see. A group of Redguard soldiers at least forty strong, adorned in the brown and black armor of the Forebear army. Rodeirc lets out a yell so loud even the gods themselves would hear, but they did not seem to notice. He did not have enough time or energy to climb down the tower and catch up to the group, so he takes out a small sliver of metal he has been polishing for the entire journey. Holding the reflective metal to the sun, he catches the light and redirects it in their direction. Roderic calls out several more times, each one managing to be louder than the last, and finally the group of soldiers changed direction to his location. He lets out a large breath as he sits down, relived to finally see the end to this horrid experience.

It only takes a moment for the Redguards to reach his position, throwing him a large canteen filled with water after he climbed down. He grasps at the precious liquid, and after several large gulps he frantically explains the situation.

"There is a large group, survivors of the Seventh Legion, an hour's march in that direction." Roderic says, pointing his hand in the direction in which he came.

A large Redguard turned to the men and spoke. "Go now, Bodeam, Rhano, stay with the Imperial while we search for the other survivors."

Normally Roderic would quickly correct such a mistake, he was no Imperial, but even his Nord pride could not contend with how grateful he was to these men for braving the sands. He takes another huge sip from the water and turns to one of the Redguards. "How far are we from Sentinal."

The man called Rhano turns. "A weeks march with half nights." And just like that, the sinking feeling returns.

It would take seven days to reach Sentinel, even at a constant march with only four hours sleep a night. Today was the last day he would ever talk to one of his oldest and most trusted friends. A mix of exhaustion and anguish forces Roderic down to a knee. Taking his ax in hand, he slams the weapon in to the rocky sand repeatedly, cursing the Thalmor to oblivion. After a moment he takes another deep breath and attempts to gathers himself. He had to take solace in the fact he had the chance to honor Galdors final request, and take vengeance on those who set events in to motion.


	16. Altering Purpose

I decided to do this chapter in the POV of Mantel Arantis so you get a better sense of the opposing High Elf values. For all of you who despise the Thalmor like I do, give this high elf a chance, because he definitely does not have the Dominions best interests in mind.

Chapter 16

Altering Purpose

POV Mantel Arantis

**Mantel sits at his desk, peering towards several scrolls** that hold vital intelligence concerning the war effort. The campaign in western Cyrodiil was coming to a close and just as Mantel expected, the Thamor strategy had changed. Originally the Grand Lord had planned on invading Cyrodiil for the sole purpose of holding off the Imperial forces while the port cities of Hammerfell were secured. But Mantel had a huge part in planning the first wave of attacks, and knew the chance this outcome was likely.

"Enough for one day," a beautiful Bosmer woman says as she pushes the parchments to the side. "You have been looking at those papers for hours, we want you to come back bed." He looks towards her and pushes the parchments off the table, kissing her as he lays her down on top. He reaches underneath the table for another bottle of wine as his is half full and would not be enough for them all. A sliver of panic griped his mind as he did not feel a thing. He then looks underneath the table to confirm that there was none left.

"More wine," Mantel yells loudly in to the darkness from his tent, yet there is no response. "Go to bed with the other girls and I shall acquire the festivities."

He pokes his head out of the tent. "Mer, have your ears stopped working?"

The guard turns around, pulling his visor down. "The rations are low Mantel, Lord Naarifin has ordered none to be spared."

"That is for the soldiers, soldier. So quickly, go on then." Mantel says spinning his hand to imply haste. The guard just turns away to ignore the insult.

Mantel sticks his head back in to the tent, looking at the table where only half a bottle remains. He ponders for a moment before turning to three pretty women lying on his bed. He sighs, "I fear I am faced with a choice no man nor mer could ever easily make."

"What do you mean?" a petite Dunmer girl says playfully.

He stares at them for a moment, placing his hand to his chin as an argument rages in his own head. Finally he comes to a decision. "You on the left, follow me."

The Bosmer stands from the bed, barely dressed, and approaches Mantel. "My dear you are a testament to your peoples beauty. A radiant being that does not belong in such a place as this. I have been blessed to be your presence, and for that I am eternally grateful to Mephala. Yet I fear you must be sacrificed."

The girl is shocked, and in a panicked voice says. "What do you mean?"

Mantel steps outside the tent while holding the girls arm, who is hidden inside the tent.

"Hey Mer." The guard turn to Mantel again. "So your sure there is no wine to be spared?" He says as he presents the wood elf from the tent.

A sigh of relief comes from the girls mouth as she realized the meaning of his words, and even gives a little show to the lone guard.

He stares for a moment, "Well maybe there is a small amount."

Mantel responds "For this creature of beauty, there had better be a large amount. Now, see to it."

The guard runs off as they retreat back in to the tent to escape the frigid air.

"This brings me sadness, I thought we were to share the bed." The girl says while pouting adorably.

"Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded my love." Mantel says gently wrapping his arms around the wood elf. "That Mer has been on the road for months now, fighting for his life every other day. He won't last more than a minute with you darling. Come back after and you will be properly taken care of."

**Mantel hears someone enter the tent**, "Finally, you had better of brought enough wine for three," But as his gaze turns to the entrance he sees Undil, with several parchments in his hand. "Fantastic," he thinks to himself as he sits down and picks up his pipe, "Please give us a moment girls. Come in my friend, please help yourself to a glass of wine."

"This is not play time Mantel," The Mer had grown bold over the past weeks Mantel thinks to himself, "I have orders from the Grand Lord."

"You seek Casaveer then, do you not?" He says as he lights his pipe. "He is currently engaged in battle outside of Anvil, allow me to hold the orders and I shall see them to his view."

"I know what you do with orders Mantel, I would not have you alter the Grand Lords wishes at my expense."

"I am truly hurt Undil, such a lack of trust."

"I do seek Casaveer but that is not all, the Grand Lord has specific orders for you both," He hands Mantel the parchment, "I have been instructed to hand deliver them to each of you. "

"Wonderful, How dose my father plan to inject hassle in to our travels on this occasion," He opens the scroll, "Take the wine? The Whores? I shall find more, I always do"

Just then the Mer that was on guard comes back with several bottles of wine, bursting in to the tent, "You had better not think me daft enough to let you keep this if you do not hold up your end of the bargain," He places the bottles on the table and turns, freezing when he sees Undil in the Justicar robes.

"See," Mantel says comically before turning to the guard and seizing the opportunity, "Get back to your post Mer, can't you see there is an important conversation going on here." The panicked soldier runs off quickly, unaware of the nature of the conversation.

"Not exactly, he wishes you to return to Alinor."

Mantel breaks his guise of confidence for the first time in the conversation, the revelation coming as a surprise. "Alinor? What reason could he possibly have for me to return, I have not set foot in my homeland for many years, and with good reason."

"Why would you avoid your birthplace?"

"I did not say I purposely distance myself from the land. I do not return upon request, my reputation in the land is questionable to say the least."

"Who would demand such a thing? More importantly who has the authority to do so?"

"Don't play coy with me, your no fool Undil you know exactly who has the authority. My father considers me to be without dignity, or honor, and holds me the lowest among his sons. He would not have me taint his legacy with my presence."

"What actions could possibly warrant such low standing in a fathers eyes."

"The very ones that your eyes behold. Even you can't claim the opinion to be without hypocrisy. His actions will echo a far more ominous memory than he believes and when my father finally parts from this world, his name will not be spoken with a pleasant tongue."

"Those are bold words Mantel, one with lower standings could be executed for such a statement."

"The blood in my veins does not change that cold reality. I speak the truth no one dare say, and despite your belief I do so without this supposed safety net of blood ties. Mer like to laugh and pass it off as another one of my odd habits but there is no room for joking on matters of such importance. Most know this to be true, yet they are blinded by pride like Casaveer, or frozen with fear of what questioning my father's rule would bring."

Mantel is sure these thoughts have crossed the Justicars mind on rare occasion, and he can see the bleak look on Undils face as he realizes witch category he falls in to. Mantel has him now, and continues passionately.

"But the worst are the ones that share in his brutality, and close minded view of the world, such as my older brothers Adiveer and Odiveer. So when he banished me from my home I saw it as a blessing. The way I see it, if you are going to prod the beast, do it from a safe distance. Voltheer has parted many a Mer's head from their bodies for much less an offenses. I very much like my head where it lays and do not wish to see it parted for selfish paranoia."

Undil lets out a deep breath as he takes in the words. "I have witnessed the level of brutality in Grand Lord Voltheer's punishments first hand, but would he really put his own son to death?"

"Without hesitation." Mantel says before taking several large gulps of his wine, finishing the glass and tossing it to the ground.

Undil looks to the floor and speaks his mind, obviously placing a fair amount of trust in Mantel as he shares his concerns, "I Fear the logic behind your words Mantel, this war has taken an unexpected tole on my resolve."

Mantel looks towards Undil, inspecting him up and down as if it was the first time they met. His measures his response carefully, being sure to be genuine in response. "War has a way of changing a person, whether it be man or mer. Sometimes it is for the better, most times it is not. You never know how it will affect you until it happens. But the one thing that is certain, is that it will happen to you, as it has happened to all before."

Undil appears to take comfort in the words, yet seems to be shocked that Mantel is actually giving him advice as he probes further, "Dose Casaveer share your opinion?"

"My brother could not be more opposite in opinion from myself, despite being my twin. Always striving to be the best warrior he can be, even when he was a child."Mantel starts to dwell on his brothers skill, "I guess one could argue that we are similar in the sense that he refused the typical Thalmor training, choosing instead to dive in to ancient Akiviri blade technique despite fathers protests."

His tone shifted to a more ominous tone as he continued. This is the first ounce of distress he allowed Undil, or any Thalmor for that matter, to see. He did not like putting himself out in such a manner, but the window for gaining allies gets smaller by the day.

"He has started to come around in the recent months, the atrocities of this war are beginning to weigh heavy on his mind. But I fear this war will claim his life far before he accepts the truth."

"What is the truth?"

"My father's speaks of our Elvin supremacy, yet there is no justifiable proof for such a claim. He speaks low of the other races like their cattle waiting for us to round them up, yet how many of our men have we had to sacrifice to garner our victories. How many Mer must die before his racist opinions are put to test. True we hold vast fountains of powerful magic, yet there are countless Bretons whose magical knowledge far surpasses our close minded practice's. We have skilled warriors that fill our ranks but the title of most fierce is still held by the Nords and Redguards. This war is not our god given right, but a lust for power and knowledge that burns inside my father. One that he has carelessly dragged our entire race in to, with my brother leading the charge."

"Casaveer is a proud warrior, far more skilled than most in our ranks. I have no doubt he will come to the realization."

"It does not take much to sway an ambitious mer to act, Whether it be coin, pussy, or in my brothers case, his legacy. Needless to say my father will tirelessly search for a way to entice Casaveer when the truth starts to reveal itself."

A moment of silence goes by before Undil says. "What do we do from here, I must relay these orders to Casaveer or I risk punishment."

"Worry not, I will give the orders to him on his return, this I promise."

The conversation had clearly swayed Undils opinion of Mantel, and he placed a sliver of trust in him as he hands over the orders. "Make sure he receives this in its original state."

"Of course." He watches Undil as he takes his leave, nodding to him as he exits the tent. As soon as he is gone Mantel instantly breaks his promise and defies his orders by opening the sealed envelope designated for Casaveer. "Hammerfell? Why would they send Casaveer to clean up Lady Arannelya's mess," It must be a punishment for the outburst the other day outside Bravil. He kept reading until he got to Odiveers name, then it all became clear. His father wants to split the two up so Casaveer can fall under their older brother Odiveers influence.

With the knowledge of what the orders entailed for Casaveer, Mantel does not have to struggled with his decision. He rolls up the parchment as he enters the bedroom, and when the parchment is crumpled in to a ball fire erupts from his hand, burning the paper to nothing in front of the women.

"I never did care for destruction," He said staring at his hand as the light flames engulf the paper, sending small embers floating up as the girls look on in awe. "No one in their right mind would risk losing the sensation in their hands. Never to feel a woman ever again, pure insanity." He runs his other hands up the side of the small Bosmer that lay on his bed and smiles. "But it makes for a good show dose it not?"


	17. A Fragile Reunion

Chapter 17

A Fragile Reunion

POV Darious Wulf

**The two brothers finally arrive to the camp** that was set up for the Seventh Legion, "A fairly large encampment for a relief effort, perhaps the Forebears are taking this one seriously," Darious thinks to himself. Dozens of tents had been set up at the center of one of the ancient Redguard forts to aid the wounded soldiers. Having the camp hug the weathered walls was a good call as it provided moderate protection from the elements and local creatures.

The Forebears did a good job evacuating most of the injured, getting a good number of the survivors back to Sentinel for medical care before it was too late. But Galdor was not among the injured in the city when they arrived the night before. This gave Darious a grim feeling as only the most gravely wounded still remained in the camp, those who were not able to be transported safely. It shouldn't take long to locate someone they knew in the camp, nevertheless they scramble to check the various tents at a quick pace. As they peer inside the various tents set up it appears that most of the supplies were sent straight from Sentinel, but the majority of manpower was provided by the Imperials who had sent two battalions to northern Hammerfell.

After several failed attempts, they locate the Breton healer Perth applying herbs to a badly wounded man. Blood stained the cuffs of his robes as he has been healing the wounded all day.

"Perth," Darious says in a low voice. "Where is my brother?"

"Darious what are you doing here?

He tilts his head to the side, "my brother."

"Of course. Go outside, I am almost finished and will be there shortly."

Darious nods halfheartedly and moves to exit the tent.

"Be quick about it," Cyrus adds before Darious grabs his shoulder pulling him outside.

The two Nords pase back and forth as they wait, but it does not take long for Perth to come out. He stumbles with his words for a moment, letting Darious know his brothers fate before the healer can even speak of it. Darious looks to Cyrus, "He is dead brother, Galdor didn't make it."

"He passed in the Desert, due to the wounds he sustained in battle. He parted this world with honor," Perth says in attempt to condole the brothers.

Darious looks to the floor as the dreadful feeling he has felt since he left Wayrest envelops him. It is like he is slowly sinking in to the sand yet his feet remain where they are. Cyrus starts to curse the gods and anyone he feels lay responsible.

"You weak mindless elves, I will kill every last one of your kind for this." His shouts become louder as his words dive deeper in to his rage. "Those foul pointy eared bastards will all suffer for this unprovoked attack. The Gods themselves will shake in fear as I slaughter their airs, and make certain this land is never tainted with their arrogance for the rest of fucking time!" .

Roderic had overheard the loud yells and located the angry Nord. A few men had attempt to console the grief stricken Nord but Cyrus pulls away from their attempt. Roderic looks to Darious. "You need to calm him down."

"Cyrus!" Darious yells out. "Do you see any Thalmor around here? Hold your fucking tongue for the right occasion."

Cyrus broadens his shoulders in fury, but managed to grasp the logic behind his brothers words and storms off to mourn alone.

"I am truly sorry for what happened to your brother, he was a damn good man." Roderic says, placing his hand on the shoulder of Darious, "and a valued friend."

"Thank you Roderic, it is good to see you in dark times like this. After all these years, I must admit I did not expect to see you here, I thought you had retired.

"Galdor was one of the best leaders I had the honor of serving under in the Imperial army, his vision of the army was the kind of thinking the empire needs now more than ever. That was the only reason I was even there and here now. He knew the mortality of his injury, and forced me to give his water to those who needed it most.

"What was the wound?"

Perth explains best he can, "He was struck with various blows throughout the short battle, but it was not the wounds he sustained, but an enchantment hidden in an arrow that struck him in the leg. It is called Chrondiasis, a vicious disease created through magical means."

"His final request was for me to lead the Seventh out of the Alik'r." Roderic says with determination, "And I will not leave until every soldier is safely out of the Alik'r"

Darious turns to face the man. "Thank you Roderic, Without you, surly his final wish would not of come to pass.

"Come now Darious, you clearly need some rest and a warm meal. I will tend to Cyrus once he has calmed himself, then we shall discuss the next step."

"Aye," Darious says in compliance, his body was battered from keeping a near constant pace for several days.

**After well needed rest Darious makes his way in to a crowded tent**, filled with various warriors from across northwest Tamriel. General Curtis Shamar stands next to Captain Patelia Jesain, representing the Empire in their heavy imperial armor. On the other side of the table stands a bearded Redguard named Anir Ja`giden, a captain in the Forebear army. He holds a strong presence in the room, being adorned in darkened Bonemold armor with a heavy steel war hammer hanging off his back. The men are doing their best to get a idea of the full scope of the war as they trade intelligence back and forth. Darious makes his way to Roderic who stands near the center of the table.

"The first wave was made up of their main Elvin force, that much is clear. Now we are hearing reports that their ranks are heavily infused with Khajit and Bosmer forces." Captain Jesain says while reading various parchments. "This confirms that we are not just dealing with the Thalmor, but the entire Aldmeri Dominion.

"A bold move," Roderic chimes in, "putting your best forces up front in the opening stages of war. Their element of surprise is the reason that paid off."

"Wait, so we aren't just fighting elves?" a Redguard in the back of the room yells out.

Anir Ja`giden turns to his guard, "No, they are just the tip of the ice berg. We have Khajiit warriors and Bosmer archers to contend with." His voice is staggeringly deep and matches his fierce presence.

"Aye, Qa Da Rashtar and his army have openly allied with the Thalmor. As well as the Bosmer prince Faldin the swift." Roderic informs the group, "But there are undoubtedly more who support the their cause."

Suddenly a Imperial scout comes in to the room. "Anvil has fallen," A collective sense of distress filled the room, "word has just arrived, the Thalmor have taken the city."

"So in less than two months the Thalmor have managed to cut off Western and Southern Cyrodiil, as well as the coastal cities of southern Hammerfell. Do we hold any knowledge of cities that still hold out?"

Anir replies, "Aye, Hegathe still holds firm but is reportedly under heavy siege."

Captain Jesain speaks up, "Anvil was the last city under siege, now the Dominion holds the port cities of Leyawiin and Anvil, as well as Kvatch. Skingrad has not yet been attacked and the Third Legion has arrived and strengthened their defenses. But its high walls and close proximity to the Imperial City makes it the single most strategic city in Cyrodiil at this moment, and undoubtedly a target."

"What I want to know is how in Oblivion they managed to keep the word from spreading to the northern provinces for so long," A Imperial captain from northern Skyrim speaks out. "Not a single bird arrived with any telling of the events."

"Some form of Thalmor magic, possibly Bosmer due to their connection with wildlife. Regardless they managed to stop all forms of message."

Darious interrupts the speculation, "Do we know how large of an army they command?"

"No, the exact number is unclear as they have not permitted man to set foot on their island for many years. It could be in the hundreds of thousands."

"What of the Dunmer, will they send their army?"

"Not likely, and even if they do, their army has been all but decimated over the last decade by the Argonians."

"Aye, it does not look like the eastern provinces will involve themselves in this mess."

Just then Darious noticed Cyrus enter the room, unwashed with a crazed look upon his face. He knew that his brother had a temper so he kept a close eye on him as they continued.

"If they have seized Anvil what is their next target?"

"It must be Sentinel," The Forebear leader claims "it is the only coastal city in Hammerfell they have not yet attacked."

"I disagree," Captain Jesain speaks out, "As I said I believe their next target to be Skingrad."

It didn't take long for Cyrus to speak his mind. "The only thing that should matter is heading for Dragonstar to catch a cart back to Cyrodiil. Once there we can get in this war and kill all of those damn Thalmor."

"Go to Cyrodiil?" Anir Ja`giden says to Cyrus, "And what of Hammerfell Nord, would you have us just leave it to the damn elves?"

"It is clear they want to take on the Imperials directly, Hammerfell is just a ploy to divide our strength." While it did seem that way, neither man could be sure of the fact.

"To shit with that Nord, I will defend my homeland till the end. To think I would do otherwise makes you as dumb as a slaughterfish."

"Watch your words Redguard, I'll rip your jaw off in front of this whole room."

The Forebear warrior grabbed the hilt of his weapon after the threat, Cyrus doing the same in response.

"If either of you draw your weapon in this meeting I will have you both locked up." Curtis says, speaking for the first time. Darious did not know the new General as well as his brother had, but could tell he was not used to being in command. "It matters not what either of you think because General Decianus will arrive in less than a week with orders from the Imperial High Command."

"Finally," Cyrus blurts out, "A real leader to take control of this mess."

Roderic speaks up, "Watch yourself Cyrus, while we do feel for your loss you are not the only one to of lost something in this war." He walks around the table getting in the Nord's face, "If you can't place your anger where it belongs then you can take your leave now."

Darious agreed with Roderic's words, so when Cyrus looks to him for support he does not see what he wants and storms off. Darious knew that Cyrus had been closer with Galdor than himself, and this must be hitting him even harder, but they had to move past it if they were to stop the Dominions advance.


	18. Return to Daggerfall

A big thanks to Badger2430 for all the favorites and follows, I'm glad you enjoy the story. Another thanks to Dblistener for the nice catch with the date in the summary, I am glad the date it accurate now. The story originally started in 170 but I decided to hold off on my prologue ideas due to the amount of POV's I already have. Last but not least thanks to DeusExfreak for the multiple reviews, it helped a lot with my ongoing editing. The war is almost in full swing and things are going to pick up real soon. I hope you enjoy this new POV of Arielle as she and the boys arrive to Daggerfall.

Chapter 18

Return to Daggerfall

A New POV, Arielle Wulf

**The beauty of Daggerfall could be seen in the distance** as Arielle sits next to the now familiar cart driver. Her concern for Darious is momentarily pushed aside by her excitement to visit the place where she grew up. The city was partially built into the surrounding hills of a small mountain hugging the coast, with some of the larger structures extending up to the peak. It was as majestic as in her memory and she called up Alix and Danous from the back.

"Look at that boys, that is Daggerfall." They stick their heads out from the cart and look on in awe of the vastly different architecture that dots the city. From the white marble buildings of the Zenith district that jut in to the sky and surround the high waterfalls that lay to the west, to the massive wooden huts of the port that can hold well over a hundred ships at a time, or the vast markets districts that dot the city, Daggerfall truly had a little bit of everything. They passed through the Ilessan Hills as they approached the city gates, the clear skies adding to the sense of awe the city already possessed. The beautiful countryside was one of Arielle's favorite parts of the region, spending most of her youth in the various farms dotting the area.

The city held a magnificence similar to Wayrest, but the boys had never seen a city with such emphasis on verticality, and their heads tilted back as far as far as they could go as they pass underneath the enormous gate.

The Knights of the Rock had kept them well protected during the journey, skillfully avoiding several groups of bandits along the road. Most would have charged blindly in to battle, but the Knights knew of the risk that would pose to the children and chose to avoid battle all together. So in Arielle's eyes, they deserve a day to rest. "Knights, take the day to yourselves, you have more than earned it."

Most of them nod and disperse in to the crowd, elated to finally be able to take a break,

all but one. Knight Luther Andistair, the hardened leader of the group, insisted on staying by her side.

"With all due respect my lady, I wish to say at your family's side."

"My appreciations Luther," Arielle says before heading for the Vindres district, where a majority of the High Council members reside. They climb up dozens of stairwell and corridors to reach the district, which was located high above the city. The members of the council were well respected among the city, and the elevation represented their social standing among the civilians. After passing through several districts they reach a security checkpoint, she stops as they reach a viewpoint on the edge of the path that overlooks a majority of the city. It was truly a magnificent view of the city, and the boys go back and forth pointing out different structures.

"Luther," Arielle calls him over. "I do appreciate your dedication to my family, but I have to go alone from here. They only allow certain people past this point, but it is safe I assure you. Please watch over my boys, the view should provide enough distraction for them until I return."The Knight is obviously not thrilled to become a glorified babysitter but he nods his head and turns to the boys.

**Arielle passes through the checkpoint and heads down the road** with large ornate houses of the various council members to her left, and railing overlooking the city to her right. She is headed for the library at the end of the street which is a common gathering spot for most on the council, as it is filled with some of the rarest books in High Rock. But before she reaches her destination she spots an old friend talking with one of the districts guards.

"Andil," She calls out. The high elf turns around and after squinting in her direction, a smile appears on his face.

"Arielle," He says extending his arms to her, "many a season has passed since we last laid eyes on one another. What is the reason behind this blessing."

"It is good to see you old friend, but I am saddened to say it is not good news that brings me back, my stepbrother is feared dead."

He waves his hand towards the guard, "go now, seek not to burden me while I converse with the former councilor."

He turns to Arielle, embracing her as she grows near. "Your words break violently upon my ears, one tries to press the mind to better thoughts. What happened?"

"I don't know entirely, a scout arrived to my home just over a week ago as Darious and his brother Cyrus returned from a hunt. He informed us of my stepbrother's supposed fate and now Darious is out." She stops as tears began to form.

"Arielle," Andil places his hands on her shoulders, "speak young one, ease the burden of your message."

She was not a young one by any means, but Andil was a tall high elf of sixty two years and he had served on the council longer before she had been inducted. He had short gray hair with a narrow beard of the same color with both sides of his mustache curled to a peak.

"Darious and his brother have set off for Hammerfell to see with their own eyes. But they don't even know what there getting in too, they could be heading straight in to the war."

"War you say? What allows you to come to such conclusions?"

Arielle looks up perplexed, "Word has not yet reached of the elves attacking Cyrodiil?"

"It has not, at least not to the council's knowledge."

"How can the Imperials not of heard? The emperor has declared war on the Aldmeri Dominion."

"Even if they had, the Imperials are not an informative breed." Andil pauses for a moment, "Hammerfell you say, that is quite perplexing. To where in Hammerfell dose he travel?"

"Somewhere in the Alik'r desert," Arielle looks up, "I have heard horrible tales of that place."

"It is a turbulent part of Tamriel, Where exactly in the Alik'r?"

"The Northern region if I remember correctly, somewhere near Sentinel. What difference does that make?"

He pauses for a moment, carefully measuring his response. "Over the year I have become familiar with the region, depending on his destination there is a potential for us to aid his cause."

"I don't know exactly but I caught a glimpse of the area they marked on the map, if you have one I could show you."

"This way," Andil turns heel and makes way for the library, "We will find what we need there."

Arielle follows the Mer adorned in maroon councilors robes to the massive library. Inside lay dozens of ornate wooden book shelves filled with some of the rarest literature found in High Rock. The interior of the building had a very warm feel to it, with the walls being constructed of a lightly colored wood found in the surrounding area that reflected the central fire nicely. It was famous for possessing a copy of every book one could find in the various libraries that dot High Rock, its content only surpassed by the Imperial, and College of Winterhold's collection. Andil walks up to the front desk, witch by itself is beautifully crafted, and pulls out a novice sized map of Tamriel.

He unravels the parchment and hands Arielle a quill, "Mark the spot to the best of your knowledge."

"Its here," she marks the map a few miles south east of Sentinel, "this is where Darious said they were to meet up with Galdor and the legion that he commands," She pauses, "or used to..."

"The Arid Valley," He says with an ominous breath, "infamous for being one of the least hospitable lands in the Provence."

He turns to her after inspecting the location marked on the map. She remains silent, her thoughts racing through various dark scenarios. Andil continues and tells her of the horrid events that were common in the land, the details scaring her even more.

"Go see the council Arielle, they will no doubt give aid to your cause with all that your family has done for this city."

"You won't come with me?" she says curiously.

"No, I am off to Birnar Mordanes, his Banner men will be vital to your cause."

"I can't thank you enough Andil, I hope I will be seeing you again shortly," she says before taking her leave.

Arielle knew that she had to see the council before she could return to her boys, but she could not help feeling a little nervous as she had not entered the council chambers in many years. Hopefully she holds the same sway she once held in the land, her husband's life might very well depend on it.


	19. Blood in the Sand

A big thanks to my friend Chris Romaro for helping me with the editing of this chapter. Also to EpicBlade123, Badger2430, and PipeDreamer for the favorites, it will become deeper, darker, and more epic in scale as it gets further in to the war. Please review, I want to improve the the writing as the story moves on, it really dose kick in to high gear soon. Here we go, this is the first major battle chapter of the story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 19

Blood and Sand

POV Darious Wulf

**Darious woke from a dream to a strong gust of wind blowing in to his tent**, the noise of the flap fluttering loudly. He can taste the grainy sands of the nearby Alik`r Desert upon his lips as he adjusts to the surrounding. He sits up from the makeshift cot, shaking the sand out of his short dark hair. Reaching in to the bag that lay underneath his cot, he pulls out his sheathed Nordic sword wrapped tightly in a archers hood and cloth. Placing the sword on the empty cot next to him, he unraveled the cloth revealing his Talos amulet. His dark green eyes peer upon the amulet for a moment as the events of the past week race through his head.

Despite his best efforts, he cannot seem recall the last time he was this tired. Darious reflects on the grueling week he and his brother endured as he drags his battered fingers through his thick Nordic beard. He takes note of a small gash he received in the engagement with that tenacious Dunmer, hidden on the back of his head. Being forced to travel hundreds of miles on foot in such a short time was no easy task, obstacles were unavoidable.

Darious shakes off the familiar feeling one is plagued with after a close call and proceeds to stand up, wrapping the hood around his head and mouth in order to hinder the intrusive sand. After getting situated, Darious tucks the amulet underneath his shirt and looks around, realizing that Cyrus is not in the tent. He decides to step outside and search for his brother, securing the tent flap on his way out to prevent the sand from blowing in.

The ferocity of the storm comes as a shock to Darious, his eyes barely able to see more than a few feet in front of his face. The camp had shrunk over the past few days and most of the wounded had been evacuate north, yet he could still not see the edge from where he stood. As he attempts to gain his bearings a tall blond haired Nord runs comes in to view. It takes him a moment to figure out who it is, but he realized it was Holger as he spoke in his deep Nordic voice.

"Finally you wake, I hate this damn sand, Nords and sand should never mix." Holger yells as he makes way for the tent, his voice competing with the howling winds

"When did this storm start?" Darious responds, his hand partly covering his eyes.

"Only moments ago, fastest sand storm we have seen yet. I pray the Nine see it cast to the distant hills as quick as it came"

Darious pats him on the shoulder. "You might need to scream it to the heavens if you wish them to hear it over this wind."

"First I must sooth my throat with a tall glass of mead" Holger said with a smile as he steps in to the tent.

The regiment has began the process of packing up camp in preparation for the march to Sentinel, but the storm makes packing up a slow and rigorous task. Daroius decides to help a group of soldiers he spotted loading a cart with wounded, but quickly takes note of General Shamar giving out orders amongst the chaos. Darious respected the newly appointed Generals skills as a warrior, and knew that he owed him a great debt for saving his brothers honor. Yet he could not help but question the Redguard, specifically because he had no prior experience leading either Nords or Imperials. When Curtis takes note of Darious loading the cart, he rushes to his side.

"Get everyone up now, we need to move camp immediately," he says in a concerned tone.

"Yes General. But if I may speak freely, wouldn't it be safer to wait for this sand storm to pass to evacuate the remaining wounded?" Darious inquires, confused by the order.

"This is no ordinary sand storm, and this is most certainly not a drill. Now go wake them men!"

Darious wondered why he was so worried about a simple sand storm, but he is a highly skilled Redguard warrior and Darious trusted in his judgment in this regard. Not that he even had the option to disagree since Curtis was now in his brother's former position. Still coping with the news of his brother's untimely death, he was more on edge than usual and considered part of his mistrust stemmed from these feelings. He does his best to swallow the lump that lay in his throat, quickly running back to relay the message.

"Everyone off your asses and get in line, were leaving the camp in ten minutes!" He yelled loudly as he entered the tent.

The men groan and complain as they wake. Most had only gotten a few hours sleep and are sporting a nasty hangover from the night before.

Holger groaned, "dammit Darious, I just got all the sand out of this blasted imperial armor."  
"Not my orders," Darious defends.

"Of course they're not, like I would take orders from a sell sword anyway." Holger grins "Just tell Curtis we are still too intoxicated by the mead."

"He knows full well how much we drank Holger, he portioned out the rations."

"Fine, tell him old Rogdul finally went mad from walking in the desert heat and killed us all in our sleep." Rogdul let out a Orc grunt of acknowledgment and everyone chuckled.

"See, he will slaughter us in our sleep if we really want him too, now that's loyalty." Gunder comically yelled through his thin pillow.

"Whatever the excuse, think of one quickly so I can finally embrace the dozens of beautiful women waiting in my dreams."

Darious was glad to see the moral had risen over the past few days, but they did not have time for the games, "No sleep for now Holger. Curtis actually sounded worried, which is uncharacteristic for him. And don't forget, I don't have the same sway with him as I did with Galdor."

"Aye, your brother was a fine commander Darious. May he,"

"Now is not the time for mourning," Cyrus sternly says as he enters the tent, interrupting Holger. "We have orders to follow."

Holger heeds the Nords logic and stays his tongue for a more appropriate time. Darious goes to his cot and starts the process of securing his steel breastplate, lifting his Talos amulet over the plated metal after it was tightened. Since most of the men in this particular tent were freelancers and technically not in the Imperial Legion, they were not issued standard armor, allowing the men to wear whatever armor they own. Perth, a long time friend of the Wulf family, does not even dawn armor, just a robe that enhances his magical abilities as well as a few straps of leather on his shoulders and chest to hold herbs needed for healing. The rule sat well with Darious since he never liked the flimsy imperial armor they distribute to all but the higher ranking officers, he and his brother Cyrus were much more formidable with their own armaments.

Roderic enters the tent as the men prepare, "This armor will do you good out there," Roderic says while inspecting the Dwemer helmet, its golden sheen worn down to a dull glare.

Roderic tosses the helm too Cyrus as he responds, "Aye, whether it be sand, arrows or blades, this armor has always been true to me." He says as he covers his bearded face with the helm.

Holger knocks his twin brother Gunders cot over, waking him up properly. "If I have to go out there you're going to as well"

Gunder grunts in protest. "Will someone put me out of my misery, the only damn place a man can get rest now is in Sovenguard."

Holger laughs. "Still not the morning I see."

"Gunder get your shit together and get ready." Roderic yells, putting a swift end to the comical banter.

The tone of the room rapidly changes as they continue in silence, equipping their full armaments in preparation for the unknown. Rogdul was the first at the ready, letting out another grunt as he adorns his custom ebony plated imperial helm. Being a talented blacksmith enabled the Orc to create strikingly impressive pieces of armor in the Imperial style that is not only imposing, but also mechanically superior to other common sets. Cyrus is the only one in camp who sported superior armor set, since Dwemer craftsmanship is near impossible to match.

"How bad is it?" Darious says to Roderic in a low voice. "I'm not sure, but if the Redguards are this concerned we should be ready."

As they start to head out, the faint sound of a Imperial horn can be heard in the distance. "That was from one of the perimeter scout teams" Perth says.

"But it was cut off far too quickly, three calls means it's clear." Roderic says as he equips his ax, "Something is very close to camp; we need to move out now."

They make their way outside with weapons drawn, to find the entire camp getting ready for battle. Curtis runs up to Darious.

"Like I said, this is no ordinary sand storm. This has to be the work of the Thalmor and I'll be dammed to Oblivion before I let them get the drop on us again."

"How could the elves possibly cause all this? There is no way they could of followed you through the Alik`r desert, and even if they did, how in oblivion did they find us?" Darious yells, becoming increasingly nervous of the unexplainable event.

Curtis says as softly as he can so the men do not hear. "I know these sands far too well to fall for a trick like this. Whether this is the elves or not, this is some sort of dark magic."

Curtis then turns and raises his voice so all the men nearby can hear, "move to the eastern wall and prepare to defend the camp."

"Roderic," Curtis yells," guard the southern edge of the camp, take Rogdul and don't allow anything through the line." He turns to an unfamiliar Imperial," Varus, take a group to the rear and make sure they don't flank us."

Finally

he turns to Darious and his group, "as for the rest of you, follow me to the eastern flank."

Darious kept close to the General as he cut through camp so he did not lose sight. Becoming disoriented was very likely during a storm like this, and he made sure his group did not get turned around. He did not know what to expect, but could it possibly be any worse than their journey. Darious holds his composure despite his racing thoughts, hoping that Curtis was just being paranoid and they would all be on their way back to Wayrest by the end of the day.

**They set out to for a line around the perimeter of the camp**at the eastern edge of the camp, where the storm originated from. Darious reaches the front line, joined by his brother Cyrus, Perth, Curtis, and the Savard brothers, Holger and Gunder. With the force of around a hundred men on the eastern line, they believe this will provide the wounded enough time to evacuate if something did attack. It takes a moment before the line is completed due to the visibility, but Curtis manages to organize the men.

The men struggle to see what is out in the distance and Curtis makes a bold call. "Archers," He yells loudly," lower your bows, they will be of no use to you in this storm."

Suddenly a dim light appears in the distance. It is hard to tell what it is at first, but to many it looked like a tall man holding a small torch. Then another light pops alongside the first, then another, then dozens more. The Imperials stand shoulder to shoulder but they can barely hear one another over the wind. The lights slowly begins to creep towards their position, but no one can agree on the source of the light.

"Could it be the scouts," Cyrus suggests.

"Talos guide us." Perth mutters, glancing to Darious. "It's not the scouts. Look closely at the flames; they are still to the wind."

"Darious grasps his amulet and repeats the phrase.

Perth yells out so all the men can hear, "No torch can stay lit in a storm like this, it's the damn elves, everyone prepare yoursel-"

But before he could finish, all the seemingly distant lights came flying at them with an incredible speed. The fireballs crashed in to the front line as quickly as the storm had struck, instantly killing any who were unlucky enough to be struck directly. But those near the impact did not escape injury, as the force of the blast threw them back and caused severe burns. The screams became tandem with the wind as the attack ensued, making communication nearly impossible.

Perth barely managed to move out front and create a magical ward, protecting Darious and the others from the flames. He blocks two incoming spells that would of no doubt, done serious damage to their part of the line. But many were not as lucky, and dozens of men fell victim during the onslaught.

Cyrus turns to Darious, "How can they be so accurate in all this madness?"

But before he can say anything Perth interrupts, "Thalmor magic is strong, they can see through the storm to our very souls."

Cyrus turns and yells in to the abyss. "Stop these games and fight you pointy eared bastards!"

The General knew the elves wanted them to charge in to battle, so he let out a desperate yell, struggling to compete with the wind and screams.

"Hold!" The fire balls crash in to the front line, causing disarray among the ranks. A few of men cannot hear the frantic orders, second guessing themselves and how they should react to the carnage.

"Hold!" The men who could not hear the frantic yells, charge in to the abyss when they see their comrades suffer such a brutal fate. But their impulsive rage betrayed them, leading them straight in to the enemies hand.

"HOLD!" Luckily his calls are headed by many, his orders breaking through the whirl of the storm and the screams of the dyeing. But the poor souls who advanced are no doubt being slaughtered by the approaching Mer.

A final fireball hits the man to the left of Cyrus, causing him to crash back in Darious and knock him off his feet. As he recovers the first Elvin soldier becomes visible, tearing through the sand with his blade drawn high. Curtis is the first one to be engaged since he is at the center of the line that is shaped to divide the enemies advance. But before the blow can land, Curtis draws his scimitar and parries the attack, then quickly unsheathes his adjacent blade and swipes at its neck. The Mer takes a step back and places his hand over the wound as blood pours out, clearly shocked to be bested so quickly. As the Mer falls to his knees the full scale of Elvin force come in to view, crashing in to the Imperial line like a hammer to an anvil.

Darious was lucky to get a chance to examine the enemy's armor before they could reach his position. Most of the enemy sported darkened silver armor shaped in an Elvin style, and finely crafted weapon of various origin. But some adorned hardened glass armor of the highest quality, crafted by fusing the deepest darkest glass found in their home province of Alinor, and the finest Elvin moonstone. The hardened armor was strewn with ornate designs but clearly designed for combat, with large pauldrons and closed helms.

The front line quickly turns in to a bloody hand to hand free for all when the elves slam in to the stunned Imperials. Curtis engages another Mer, swiftly blocking with his right, and swiping his unhindered blade at the elves leg. He parries another blow as the injured Mer falls over at the feet of Darious, and he swiftly finishes the job. Just then Curtis gets bashed in the face by the pummel of another Elvin sword and falls back.

Darious steps forth and attacks the Thalmor so he doesn't get a chance to finish the downed General. The Mer was adorned in the glass armor and had clearly earned it, as he easily counter's each and every one of the attacks. Ignoring the taste of blood and the tooth that was clearly knocked loose, Curtis stands up next to Darious, kicking the Mer in the chest with as much force as he could deliver while he was distracted.

Gunder was nearby and took note of the act, swiftly delivering the death blow to the Thalmor warrior with his large steel war hammer.

"Take no prisoners," Curtis yells out to the men as blood streams from his mouth, "as they will no doubt return the favor."

The fighting goes on for a moment before they fall back to a choke point near the entrance and solidified the line, the amount of Elvin attacks becoming more scarce as they are pushed back time and time again. Curtis orders Cyrus to take a group of men and give aid to the eastern part of the line, where the elves had hit the hardest.

By this time Perth had conjured a blade and taken out several Mer while covering their flank. Darious stands near the mage and returns the favor as Curtis moves back to assess the battle. One would parry an attack while the other would use the opening to cut down their enemy. Together they manage to kill another four soldiers before a runner from camp approaches the front.

"There attacking the rear, slaughtering the wounded! Quickly general, we need help!"

Darious could see the dismay on the Generals face as the runner spoke, the thought of the wounded he had so desperately lead through the desert to be slaughtered by the same vile creatures that put them there clearly weighed heavy on his mind.

"Darious, take a dozen men to reinforce the rear guard," He turns to the runner, "Go to the eastern defenses and seek Roderic to get more able bodies for the cause."

The southern line was holding strong, so Darious takes off with the Savard brothers and a few others, cutting through the tents headed for the rear. Darious sets a quick pace, but that inadvertently causes five of the men to become lost in the storm.

**Not a single man could believe what they saw as they arrived to the rear**, staring in shock as rage swelled through their ranks. The rear guards had been all but decimated by the overwhelming number of Mer and four of the carts holding wounded had been set ablaze. Holger spots a dozen more Thalmor surrounding a fifth cart, preparing to do the same.

Darious roars as he falls in to a rage, accompanied by all those who lay witness to the atrocity. As they charge towards the foul creatures, Holder throws his swords at the elf on the far side of the cart and impales the unsuspecting soldier in the neck. Holger led half the men to that side of the cart and managed to cleave his way through several Mer as Darious leads the rest to the front.

Darious found himself leaping in to the air just as his target noticed his approach, slamming his boot in to the Mers chest and simultaneously jamming the point of his blade in to the visor. He quickly slid the blade out of the fallen Mers skull and barely blocked a dagger from entering his side, but the Mer managed to twist the sword from his grasp. Dropping his shield, he grabbed the wrist that controlled the dagger and placed his right leg behind the elves, using his free arm to trip him to the sand. Darious landed on top, giving him all the leverage needed to slit the Mers throat with his own glass dagger.

As Darious looked up he spotted another Thalmor approaching with a glass war ax in each hand. He rolls off the dead Mer towards his shield and lifts it off the sand, blocking the furious attacks as they slam down. He manages to get back to his feet and knock one of the axes from the Mers grasp with the shield, but it left him open to attack. He cringed in pain as the ax smashed in to his left shoulder, shattering his pauldron. The armor absorbed most of the blow but it was enough to cause a massive gash from his shoulder down to his back and cripple his left arm. He lifted the shield with his good arm to block the next attack but he did not have the right grip, and the the edge of the shield slams in to his face. The blow staggers him back and busts his lip open, but he spots his sword in the sand and decides to relinquish his shield in favor of the blade.

Darious starts to dodge the attacks and make attempts of his own, but his head starts to spin as the blood seeps from his various wounds, making his movements sluggish. He was almost bested by the soldiers relentless strikes, but a unfamiliar Imperial steps in to the path of the blow, taking the Mer by surprise and plunging a dagger deep in to his sternum.

As the imperial turns to Darious, he spots a flash out in the distance and attempts to warn the man of the incoming attack, but it came to quickly and slammed in to the imperials back.

The explosion sends Darious crashing to the sand, losing his sword in the process. It was a powerfully devastating attack that threw him back and caused painful burns, despite not being hit directly. With his ears ringing, his bearings lost, and his weapon cast from his hand, Darious knew that this position was a sign one was near death. He could smell singed hair as he looks up, spotting Gunder fighting off two elves with his large war hammer. Everything is blurry and upside down, moving at an eerily slowly pace. Gunder is holding his own but it looks like that won't last, as a third Thalmor emerges from the blinding sand to swipe at his flank. Darious is still weary but managed to find, and grab the hilt of his sword. However before he can stand and give aid, a conjured sword strikes the Nordic blade from his grasp. The Mer quickly follows up and kicks Darious in the face, knocking him back to the ground. He can barely make out his attacker as blood streams from his head and pools in his eyes, but from what Darious could make out, this Mer was not dressed in armor like the rest. This Thalmor sported a black robe with golden trim and a ebony breastplate that extended to both his arms and legs.

The elf reaches down and grabs hold of the Talos amulet, ripping it from around his neck. After examining the amulet for a moment, he boasts. "Such a sad little race you are, to believe in such insanity." He lets out a chilling laugh and slams his boot on to Darious's chest, pushing down hard as Darious yells out in agony.

Darious realizes how bleak the situation is when several more Thalmor surround him. They start to kick him relentlessly as the original Mer continues his boasting.

"When my father finally sets his rule across this land, the race of men will finally find themselves in the proper place."

When the Mer completes the rant, he lifts the conjured sword high in the air for the killing blow. Darious cant help but think of his family, all his friends, Sovengarde. His mind starts to race as he recounts the series of events that led him to this vulnerable spot. The Thalmor fades in to darkness as Darious accepts his fate, allowing himself to drift off in to the abyss.


End file.
